Hibernation
by the morrighan
Summary: Sometimes it's best to let sleeping dogs lie...
1. Chapter 1

Hibernation

White.

John Sheppard stared down at the little white ball poised precariously at his feet. Its surface was not smooth, but molded by hexagonal shapes. Tiny edges giving it a deeper heft. The ball appeared unresponsive, unconcerned as the lieutenant colonel leveled his most lethal, dangerous glare at it. A look that sent marines into full attention. That sent scientists cowering busily over their work. That sent technicians scurrying out of his way.

A smile traced itself on John's full lips. He adjusted his grip on the golf club he held. Wrists flexing, fingers loosening slightly. "All right, Rodney, this is the perfect back swing." As he swung the club high in the air, pelvis turning, hips twisting in perfect concert he sliced it towards the little white golf ball.

"John! John Sheppard!" Moira Sheppard's sharp voice cut the air like a knife.

Startled John swung wildly. Whacking into the ball. The ball shot sideways, careened off the wall. Hit the opposite wall. Nicked a panel which lit and activated a door. The ball continued, flying over the railing and disappeared into the lower city. At the same time the golf club slid from his loose grip. It spun forward, nearly hitting Rodney McKay who yelped as he ducked. The club whacked the wall. Smashed a crystal light and then fell to the floor, spinning like a top.

Rodney straightened, stared. "Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed, checking the top of his head to make certain it was still there. He smoothed down his fluttered hair.

"Son of a bitch," John echoed his friend's sentiment. He whirled as Moira strode towards him. Angry expression on her face, ponytail flying wildly behind her. Hips swaying in her khaki pants. Breasts bouncing slightly in her snug green t-shirt as she swung her arms at her sides. "Um, hey, Moira," he greeted.

"Don't you dare hey Moira me, John Sheppard! How could you? What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded. Balling her hands into fists. She hit his arm. Hard.

"Ow! What the–"

"Oh, oh, you thought it was funny, did you? You just think you are fucking hilarious, don't you? You pervert! You son of a bitch! You obsessed, arrogant, pig-headed–"

"Whoa, whoa!" He held up his hands in surrender. Black polo shirt raising just a little to give her a glimpse of bare skin at his waist. "Okay, you got me, I guess. I thought it was funny at the time. Do you mind telling me what I did before you ruin my next swing?"

"Oh like you don't know, you bastard! The camera!" She fumed at his blank expression. "The photos! The mountain suite!"

"Oh," he realized. He smiled, relaxing. Fearing for a moment that she had found out about his amnesic indiscretion, but he knew her reaction would be nothing like this. "Oh yes," he drawled with a playful smile on his handsome face, brilliant green eyes sparkling, "those photos. I could not, just could not resist taking that particular set of photos, Moira. I'm going to make one of them my screen saver. Bet you can't guess which one." He raised a brow.

She smacked his arm. "You son of a bitch! I deleted them so you can't–"

"Oh I can," he assured smugly. "Don't you worry, baby, I downloaded those to my hard drive." He lowered his voice, gave her a suggestive look. "In more ways than one." He winked.

Moira tried not to smile. It was difficult to remain angry with him when he was flirting so outrageously. Head tilted slightly to one side. Lips curved into a smile. The knowing warmth in his eyes. The black polo shirt opened generously at his throat. Brown pants hugging him. She glared at him. "You son of a bitch!" She whirled, crossed the floor in quick strides.

John laughed. "Ah, come on, Moira! They were tastefully done, very artful, don't you think?" He laughed again, enjoying her anger, her chagrin.

"Um, John, should you be pissing her off like that?" Rodney asked.

"Yeah. Once in a while," he commented. "It spices things up." What things he did not elucidate. But his body was already anticipating.

"Oh, um, really? Well, you'd better not go after her any time soon. She needs to cool down!" Rodney advised, oblivious.

"No, oh no. I want her pissed. We'll resume this later, Rodney." He sprinted across the room to collect his golf club. Swung it up onto his shoulder.

"You want her pissed? Why on Earth would you want your wife pissed at you?"

John met the genuinely baffled scientist's gaze. Smirked. "Why else? Angry, angry sex. See ya." He strode out of the room. Leaving Rodney to stare, realize. Shake his head.

* * *

Moira was sitting at the table in her room, perusing the photos on her lap top. Photos of the rare albino cougar they had seen. A herd of elk. Mountain views. Images of John in a full tuxedo. Scowling. Smiling. Pouting. She shut the data pad, moved to the bed. Heard John enter his adjoining room. Dump his golf club onto the bed. She moved to the dresser, opened a drawer.

John sauntered into her room, their room as he came to think of it more and more. He watched her searching for something. "Oh come on, Moira, you are not that pissed at me, are you?"

"Go away," she warned. Slammed the drawer shut. Turned with a hammer in her hand.

John held up his hands again, taking a step backwards. "Whoa, whoa, I guess you are."

She smiled, moved to the bed. "That's right, sweetie, so you better keep your distance." She banged the hammer onto the headboard. The wood was splintered, in danger of falling apart on one side. "I see I have to fix this too. I've only asked you to fix this twenty times, John!"

"Twenty-two, but who's counting?" he jested, watching her get on the bed. Stand on her knees, thighs spread for balance. She hammered the splintered sections back together. He smirked, watching. Wanting as her hips shifted. Her shapely rear snug in the khaki pants. Her shirt rode up a little, just a little to give him a peek of her bare skin. A glimpse of pale green lace as she leaned way over to adjust the furniture. She straightened. He moved onto the bed, onto his knees behind her. Touched her hips. "Ah baby, baby, please. This is one of my favorite positions," he teased into her ear.

"Go away," she said sternly. "I've got a hammer and know how to use it, sweetie."

He laughed. Kissed her throat, moving her hair out of the way. "Ah baby, I bet you do. You do know how to handle a tool like that. But I've got a bigger, harder tool that I do know how to use. Repeatedly." He squeezed her rear. "Put the hammer down, baby, before one of us gets hurt. And not the fun kind of hurt either."

She smiled, trying not to laugh. Not to lose her anger but he was so close. Teasing. Loving. Hands sliding between her legs to caress. His mouth on her throat. "John! John, I need to fix this because you are too lazy to–"

He turned her face to his. Kissed her mouth. Hands sliding over hers to remove the hammer from her grasp. He dropped it to the floor. "That's it, baby," he urged, breaking the kiss. Shoving his body up against hers. Shoving her up to the headboard. "It's not because I'm lazy, Moira. It's because I want to see how much sex it will take to finally break it apart." His hands slid up to fondle her breasts as she squirmed on him. "Ah baby, yes, shake that pert little ass."

"Colonel Sheppard, respond," a voice announced.

"Fuck. Why is it always when we are in the middle of coitus?" he grumbled. Freeing her.

She laughed. "We haven't started coitus, sweetie. We're still fully clothed," she remonstrated.

"I can remedy that, baby. Hold this twenty." He tapped his earpiece. "This is Sheppard. Report!"

"Colonel, Major Reynolds has returned from PJ5096. Doctor Weir requests your presence at the debrief in fifteen."

"Thanks. I'll be there. Sheppard out." He sighed, tapped the earpiece. "Shit. Debrief in fifteen. So...de-panty in five?"

Moira laughed. "I don't think so, colonel. Even if you are at the pre-deployment level of preparedness." She reached back to run her hand up his thigh. She slipped past him off the bed. Grabbed the hammer from the floor. "You better stand down, colonel, before someone gets hurt with that lethal ordnance of yours. I'll be fine, sweetie, don't you worry. I have this bigger, longer, harder tool to play with, now don't I?" She stroked the hammer, ran the length of it between her legs with a smirk.

"Fuck," he remarked, eyes on her. Aroused. Amused. He got off the bed, took the hammer from her. Tossed it onto the bed. "The only tool you are allowed to put there, or to handle is mine, baby. Only mine." He kissed her, pulling her into his arms. "I can promise you, baby, my tool is much bigger, much longer, and much, much harder than that pathetic hammer."

She laughed, squirming along his body. "Ooh, John, you might be right. But I'm still not sure."

He smiled. "You will be, Moira. Here. You scientists always need irrefutable proof, right?" He took her hand, shoved it against his crotch. He unzipped her pants and shoved his long fingers into them to find his own evidence.

"John!" she protested, pulling her hand off him to yank his out of her pants. "Does this mean that we are going to that abandoned Wraith facility? Now that Reynolds is back?"

"Yeah. Once I draw up the specs and all." He kissed her. "Tomorrow. Right now I want those panties wet. No, sodden. No, drenched, so fucking wet they drip when I get back to remove them. With my teeth. I want another trophy. Meanwhile I will go to this debrief and stare at my new luscious screen saver. Back in thirty, baby." He laughed at her scowl as he left.

John slowed his swagger, schooling the smirk on his face as he passed people. Data pad clutched in one hand. He hoped that the meeting would be quick. Anticipated spending some time with Moira. More playful flirtation evolving into some very pleasurable sex.

"John? John!"

John cursed to himself, kept walking. Trying to ignore the woman hastening after him. She caught his arm and he paused, turned, pulling free of her loose grasp. "Stay away from me."

Susan Williams stared, blue eyes wide. But she frowned. "John. You can't just pretend it didn't happen. If you're having trouble getting it up again, honey, I can always persuade your–" she began saucily, stepping closer to him.

He stepped away from her, glaring. "Nothing happened, except you took full advantage of my impaired state. So stay away from me, got it?"

"Oh please! You knew damn well what you were doing, even if you did forget your so-called wife! John, you know you want me, you know–"

"The only thing I know is that I can't stand the sight of you," he informed, voice low. Harsh. "So stay the fuck away from me and my wife, got it?" He turned, strode away from her. Loosening his grasp on the data pad before he damaged it.

He entered the conference room. Sat and opened the data pad. He nodded as Jason Reynolds and his team joined him, followed by Elizabeth Weir. He pretended to pay attention to the mission report, only half listening to another boring trading opportunity. Eyes on his data pad he clicked off the reports, entered a password and brought up the pictures of Moira he had taken after she had fallen fast asleep. After too much wine. After exuberant, wild sex. After the celebration of their six-month wedding anniversary.

He zoomed in on certain features. Areas. The curve of a semi-hidden breast. The curves of her naked back. The artfully draped rear, one bare cheek visible as the black slinky dress draped the rest of her. Her slightly parted rosy lips, messy hair. He zoomed. Zoomed closer in another shot. Could nearly make out a very intimate part of her anatomy until it blurred. He zoomed out, shifted on his chair as his body reacted. He bit his lower lip to conceal his smile. Suddenly clicked off the photos and restored the report. "So," he said into the lull, "in conclusion, you got food for medical supplies, blah, blah, blah."

Jason smiled as the men grinned. "Yes, sir. A lot of blah, blah, blah, actually. No Wraith intel or Ancient tech. No ZPMs or any energy readings. No unusual biologicals. Just pounds and pounds of seeds and–"

"Excuse me, major," Elizabeth interrupted. "Biologicals?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Meaning?" she prompted. Glanced at John who seemed completely unfazed.

"A new directive, ma'am, ordered by Colonel Sheppard. Reporting on any anomalous or unusual wildlife we happen to encounter."

"Oh." She looked at John again, knowing full well he had initiated that for Moira. "Please, continue."

"Please, don't," John interrupted. "I read the report. The endless, and I do mean endless list of seeds and grains. Fascinating reading," he caustically commented. The men grinned.

"Yes, you did seem to be absorbed by it," Elizabeth noted, wondering what he really had been looking at on his screen. Had seen his fond smile, intent gaze.

"Yes. Fascinating, as I said," John smoothly agreed. "In fact, it was so engrossing I'm thinking of taking up botany as a sideline." The men laughed. "Dismissed. You've earned your off days for this one, major."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

John watched the team leave. He turned to Elizabeth. "We need to re-think our strategies."

"Strategies? What do you mean? No, wait. Come to my office."

He strolled with her up the steps into her office. Closed the door part way. "Just that. We need to re-prioritize these missions. I don't want my men wasting time and spinning their wheels on these endless trading missions."

"Establishing diplomatic and trading partnerships is essential for this expedition, John. You know that," she chided.

"Yes," he agreed as they sat opposite each other. The desk a large barrier between them. "But that's the work of civvies, not a full marine team."

She raised a brow at his term. "Civvies? I see. We need the marines for protection."

"Of course. I'm just saying we could deploy," he paused, Moira's use of the word teasing his mind, his body, "our men more usefully. That's all. For example, Delta needs to be permanently assigned to the city unless I order otherwise. I want them here so I can lead the teams to investigate the planet and that abandoned facility. We could have gone sooner but I had to wait for Reynolds to return."

"All right, that's a good point. We can schedule Delta to be a permanent Atlantis garrison," she agreed, making a note of it. "You are taking two teams tomorrow?"

"Yes. I need the scientists, unfortunately," he shrugged, causing her to smile, "so I'm taking Lorne's team, well, most of it, and mine. And Beckett. In case we find anything of value there. If not we'll be home by lunch."

"Lorne's team? And by most of it do you mean to say you are excluding Moira?"

"No. I need her Wraith expertise on this. No, I'm excluding Kavanaugh. McKay is enough."

Elizabeth smirked. "True. I can't fault you there, John. You know, you've never told me how you found out about this planet in the first place, or why you believe it contains valuable information." She leaned forward, arms folded on the desk.

John shrugged. "Um, I was a little busy at the time. It's intel from my, um, dark side version. Some possible key to the Wraith over there, so maybe to the Wraith here."

"And he told you this?"

"Um, no, not exactly. Well, he did...I mean...he left the address in the Ancient Chair device. Which only I can access by code. And he, um, gave us the rest on a flash drive."


	2. Chapter 2

Hibernation2

Elizabeth stared. All amusement gone from her face. "What? You are only telling me this now? What else is on that flash drive, John?"

John shrugged again. Braced for her anger at his secrecy. "Stuff. Stuff from that reality." At her stare he reluctantly continued. "All kinds of things. Wraith ATA biology for Moira and Carson. Wraith and Ancient hybrid ships, plus the anomaly stuff for Rodney." He failed to mention the video file of the fall of that Atlantis. The destruction of the city.

Elizabeth was still staring. "I see. And you shared all this information, and you acted upon it, all without bothering to even tell me, much less share it with me?"

John replied, "Yes. Sorry. There just wasn't time, Elizabeth. I needed Carson's input. I needed Rodney's. ASAP. Things were moving very quickly, as you may remember–"

"John! You had three weeks before your alternate version even showed up here for the formula! You could have told me at any time! But you didn't."

"No, I didn't," he agreed, uncomfortable. "Sorry. I should have. I just wanted to keep it classified. Still do. There are things on there that are for my eyes only."

"Such as?" she questioned. Anger brimming to the surface of her voice. "John, you seem to have conveniently forgotten that I am the leader of his expedition, not you. Now I can understand you taking charge of all military aspects, and taking over when Moira's security is endangered, but this, this is inexcusable! I want to see all of those files now! All of them, John! Even the ones you are pointedly not revealing to me now!"

John frowned. "Of course," he agreed. "I can get you the files. I can send you copies like I sent to Beckett and McKay."

"No, you misunderstand me, John. I want that flash drive. I want it here. Now."

* * *

Moira strolled into the control room, headed for Rodney. He was busily working at a console, muttering to himself and typing commands. "Rodney? I need to ask you–"

He looked at her, smiled. "Moira. Oh, are you still pissed? I guess not now." He smirked.

"What? No, I'm still pissed. Not at you. Why wouldn't I be pissed?"

"Nothing. So, you wanted to ask–"

"Spill it, Rodney. Why wouldn't I be–" she persisted, suspicious.

"John said he wanted you pissed for angry sex. So, you wanted to ask me..."

"He did, did he?" She glanced at Elizabeth's office. Saw John lounging in one of the chairs like a lazy cat. All arms and legs sprawling. "Son of a bitch," she muttered. "Now I am pissed. There wasn't time for any..." She caught herself, met Rodney's smirking expression. "Shut up! I wanted to ask you–"

"Oh! Thanks for the extra popcorn and chocolate! And the physics manuals," Rodney remembered the gifts suddenly.

"You got extra chocolate?" asked Carson Beckett as he joined them. "All I got was a lovely plaid scarf and a case of Guinness."

"You got Guinness?" Evan Lorne inquired, joining them. "All I got were art supplies and a collection of novels."

"You men are never satisfied," Moira complained. They laughed.

"Hey, what did you get John? Considering our gifts you must have splurged on him," Rodney noted.

"I'm sure he was very, very satisfied," jested Evan. They laughed.

"Evan!" Moira scolded, coloring at the memory of the presents. The wild, exuberant sex. The intensity, the pleasure.

"What were you going to ask me?" Rodney prompted.

"What? Oh! The supplies. Did I get everything right? I followed your list to the letter."

"Yes, you did great, Moira!"

"Supplies?" asked Carson.

"For the bachelor party," Rodney confided.

"All we need now are the strippers," Evan noted. The men smiled in agreement.

"No! No strippers, remember? And whatever you do, don't let John make a speech," she jested.

"Why? Is he long-winded?" asked Evan.

"Probably pompous," noted Rodney.

"Probably sharp," Carson agreed.

"No, no. He's...he won't say much." She smiled. "Let me give you an example."

* * *

Laughter drifted up to the office, momentarily halting the tense moment. "I wonder what that's about," Elizabeth said.

John turned in the chair. Saw Moira talking to Rodney, Carson, and Evan. Rodney was gesticulating wildly. Carson nodding. Evan smirking. "Who knows..." He turned back to her. "I'll take a look at the current teams and do some shifting of personnel to–"

"John! The flash drive?"

John sighed. "Fine. I'll deliver it later today. Thing is the whole drive is encrypted. And to be honest I'd rather not reveal those passwords. Security reasons. Let me make copies of the relevant files and I can–"

"No. You will give me the original flash drive and all of the passwords. I will decide what is relevant and what is not. Is that clear?"

He straightened in the chair. "No, actually. I'll decide what is relevant as most of this falls under my purview as military commander. Plus there are some personal things on there that have no bearing on Atlantis or its security."

"Personal things? Like what?"

"Personal things. Look, you're just going to have to trust me on this. All of the relevant files will be transferred to your–"

"Trust you? What about you trusting me, John? This, for instance?" She shoved a paper towards him. "The transfer list. Your additions. With no explanations, nothing!"

John glanced at it. "Yes. Daniels is up for leave. I think he'd be better suited to a desk job at the SGC. He's efficient with supplies and reports, not so much in the field. Johnson still has trouble with his leg. I think he would be better off in non-combat sitreps. Plus he misses his family. Lots of siblings." Laughter drifted from the control room. John turned in his chair to see Moira gesturing as the men surrounded her, laughing. He smiled.

"And this one? Susan Williams?"

John tensed. Forgotten he added a few other names to the list. Before his amnesia. Before the indiscretion. He turned to meet Elizabeth's irate gaze. "Yeah."

"And these other three women? None of whom are marines. All of whom are employed in various occupations in this city. John? Care to explain this?"

He almost squirmed in his chair. "No. Not really. I'd prefer it if you didn't require one. They're all due to be up for rotation anyway, right?"

"That's not the issue. I need a better reason than that, John. I handle any civilian reassignments unless otherwise directed by the IOA and these women are...oh...oh no. Don't tell me. You've got to be kidding me!" she realized at his chagrin, his pained expression. "They are all your ex–"

A burst of raucous laughter filled the air. John stood, nearly leapt out of the chair, thankful for the interruption. "I better see what's going on down there. I bet it's at my expense."

"John! I need an answer! John!"

He escaped, flying down the stairs.

Moira had extended her arm, as if holding a glass. "So there we were. The perfect setting. And I'm thinking, okay this will be amazing. Romantic. A true profession of his deepest feelings at last. We have the setting, the candlelight. The fancy clothes. The music. Everything. So I'm expecting a flowery romantic toast, right? But I forget this is John Sheppard. Man of few and awkward words. He lifts his glass. And says, I'm quoting verbatim here, he says," she paused, clearing her throat, spoke in a lower register, "A toast. To you, Moira." She waited. Sighed. "And that was it."

"That was all he said?" asked Carson, appalled. "On your six-month anniversary?"

"Yes,"she nodded. "So I'm left holding up my glass like an idiot while he clinks it with his and then downs his wine. Starts to eat like he just gave a high-five to a football buddy!" Laughter erupted. "I mean, come on! Colonel Romance he is not!"

John frowned, joining them. "I take it this is at my expense?" he asked, as the laughter abruptly stilled. "Moira? Not the snow story?"

"No, John. Not the snow story," she assured.

"There's another story?" Evan asked, saw John's glower. "Uh, sir."

"Moira, do tell! I love any story where John makes an ass of himself!" Rodney enthused. Laughter. "He almost took off my head with a golf club!"

"And I still might," John threatened. "Because of her," he pointed at his wife. "And I have never made an ass of myself."

"No, John, you haven't," Moira soothed. "You're just a son of a bitch." Laughter. "Gentlemen?"

"Oh! I've got physics work," Rodney drifted.

"I've got medical work." Carson left.

"I've got military work, sir." Evan winked at Moira, strolled across the room.

"I've got zoological work. See ya, colonel." She strode out of the area.

"Moira!" John followed. "Moira Sheppard!" he snapped, "direct that pert little ass to our quarters now!"

"Yes, sir!" she enthused. Altered her direction.

He smirked, sped up to be on her heels. "You better be drenched in those panties, baby."

"Shut up, John!"

"You know, Moira, while I was at the fucking meeting I was looking at those photos. I have to say I'm a much better photographer then I thought. Do you want to know why?"

She heard his anger, a living thing breathing under his teasing. Wondered at it. Knew it wasn't entirely directed at her, if at all. "No."

"When I zoom in on one particular photo I can just make out that pert little ass in all of its glory, and the sweetest, pinkest folds of your fucking tight little pus–"

"John!" She whirled as they entered her room. "You son of a–"

He laughed. Spun her to kiss her. To shove her against the wall. He kept kissing her. "Moira," he said low into her ear, "those photos gave me such a hard-on. I could have taken care of it, I guess, under the table. I only needed one hand to click the keyboard."

"John! What the hell?" She shoved. "What–"

"Eighteen days, Moira! Stuck on that ship with no sex. Except that quickie in the F302. I'll never look at the ejection seat in the same way again. And now this."

"This what?" she asked, but he kissed her. Kept kissing her as he drew her to the bed. Pushed her onto it. He slid next to her. Unzipped her pants and pushed his hand into them. "Not wet by far, baby. Damn it. I want to–"

"I can guess what you want to do, sweetie! Damn it, John, slow down!" She pried his hand out of her pants. Shoved him. "What is wrong with you?"

"Isn't it obvious, baby? I need full fucking deployment." He kissed her, yanking down her pants but sat. "Shit."

"John?" She stared, perplexed by his mood, his anger, his passion.

"Just a sec, baby." He stood. Moved to his room. Moira sat, puzzled. Waiting. Debating whether or not to undress. Questions swarmed in her mind, but she knew that John wouldn't answer any of them. Not until he got what he wanted. What he needed from her.

"John? What's wrong?" she called.

"Nothing, Moira." He returned, pants gone. Shorts on but very loose, skimming his hips as if they would fall off any second. He held a square packet in his fingers.

Moira frowned. "I said no."

"Let me guess, baby. Naked cock or no cock?" he teased, sitting on the bed.

"Yes! You don't need that, damn it, I'm on the pill! Come here and–"

"Fuck you? I will, baby, don't you worry." He tried to open it, cursed. "Damn it," he muttered. Impatient.

Moira smiled. She slid her hand up his back under his black shirt. "Jo-hn," she wooed into his ear. Kissed his throat. She snatched the packet from him, threw it aside. "Your deployment is going down, soldier, so forget that."

"Moira! We agreed to–"

"No, you decided!"

"Until we have that particular discussion we're not taking any chances. Oh, that's right. You already decided, didn't you?" he snapped.

"What? Oh, for crying out loud! For now, John, for now!" she flared, recalling her adamant refusal when the possibility of being pregnant had emerged. Instead she had just been sick. "What the hell is with you today?"

"Nothing!" he snapped. Stood. "I'll get this fucking thing on and then we will have sex, Moira." He snatched the packet off the floor, headed to the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Hibernation3

"Fuck!" Moira swore under her breath. Irritated, puzzled by his odd mood. His insistence on using a condom. His anger. She pursued him. John was standing near the sink, ripping the condom packet open with his teeth. He yanked down his shorts. The material slid to the floor and he stepped out of it. At the same time fumbling with the condom. Trying to pull it on with savage motions. "John? You don't have to–"

"Get on the bed and open your fucking legs," he growled, still trying to put on the latex. He was pissed at her attitude, although he didn't really know why. Pissed at the interruptions. Pissed at Elizabeth's questioning about the four women and her adamant demands for the flash drive. Pissed at Moira's seeming dismissal of any romantic gestures he attempted.

Moira stared. Aroused. Tension radiated from every line of his lean, muscled body. Tight, firm rear clenching as he struggled. Voice low, so low, husky with lust. Dangerous, although she knew he would never hurt her. Still a thrill went through her. The dangerous edge, the intensity of his voice. On his face when he looked at her. She craved that intensity. That danger, to turn it into passion. She slowly neared, as if approaching a wild animal. Felt another ripple of desire, anticipation. She gently touched his arm, felt the strength. "John."

"I said get on the bed and spread your fucking legs," he ordered. Voice so intense it made her body tighten, tingle. Throb with desire and need.

Moira slowly circled round to face him. Saw the condom half on his very engorged, hard cock. She bit her lower lip as he slowly, slowly looked up to meet her gaze. She met his. Gulped. Handsome face stern, serious. Green eyes brilliant, smouldering. Almost lethal in their intensity. Strong jaw shadowed by stubble. Hair disordered, delicious. Lips so kissable, even when formed into a frown. He licked them slowly. Deliberately. Bottom lip wet now.

Moira nearly fell, transfixed. So tight in her lower body, so wet she was drenching the panties just as he had wanted. A tremble shivered in her frame as her nipples hardened against her bra, against her t-shirt for him to see. But his gaze lowered to the visible stain on her green panties.

She swallowed. But fearlessly stepped closer. Gently moved his hands off himself. Gently touched his cock and the condom. Ran her fingers along his skin.

John groaned softly, closed his eyes a moment. Opened them to stare hard at her flushed face, swirling hair. Parted rosy lips. Breasts jutting against her shirt. Panties clinging to her crotch. Wet. He could inhale her arousal now, saw the glistening curls under the green, sheer fabric. He thought he'd burst as her fingers gently plied his cock. His balls tightened painfully. "Moira," he croaked when his earpiece went off loudly.

"Colonel Sheppard, do you copy? Please respond."

John gritted his teeth, unable to move. Unable to speak. He tapped the earpiece. Swallowed. "Sheppard. Copy," he managed to growl.

Moira nearly swooned. He was so dangerous, so sexy. His voice, his face, his body. His hard cock in her hands, jerking slightly at her touch. His need painfully visible. Arousing. Empowering.

"We're beginning the training, sir," the voice informed, oblivious. "The ordnance check and the firing range targets have been implemented. Awaiting your presence, sir."

"Ordnance check," he repeated, trying to focus but Moira's fingers were easing the condom slowly. Which way at first he couldn't tell. He bit his lip, stifling a moan of pure frustration, of anger, of lust. Licked his lips again. Tried to scramble a coherent thought. An order. "I–"

"No." Moira slipped the earpiece off him, onto her ear. "Easy, John, easy," she soothed in a whisper, as if trying to tame him. "Sargent, Colonel Sheppard is involved in some very serious negotiations right now. Do you really need him to supervise training and ordnance checks?"

"Un, ma'am? Uh, no...I mean..."

"Surely he has subordinates for that, doesn't he? He must delegate some of his lesser responsibilities," she reasoned. Slowly slid the condom down his cock, trying to remove it. But it was tight, so tight. Making him shift, groan, grit his teeth.

"Of, of course, ma'am...Major Peterson handles the training duties."

"Well then, he can–"

"But Colonel Sheppard supervises all ordnance maneuvers himself, unless he is off world."

"I see." Moira chewed her lower lip, easing the condom off inch by inch. John's gaze was riveted on her mouth as her fingers slid the confining latex closer, closer to the head. The slowness was excruciating. "Well, sargent, as I said, Colonel Sheppard is extremely busy right now." She eased the condom off with a sudden tug. He jerked in her hands, spilling, dribbling as relief and lust collided. "Sargent, I have Colonel Sheppard's ordnance in hand," she gently grasped, squeezed. Ran her nails lightly along the hard length of him. "And surely Major Peterson can supervise any ordnance training for now. Colonel Sheppard is otherwise engaged and will join you shortly. Um, out." She freed him. Took off the earpiece and tossed it into the sink behind her. "Sorry, John, I...um...I...um..."

John pulled her into his arms, kissed her. Not roughly, but slowly. A long, sensuous kiss. Parting her lips, tongue thrusting in to make her murmur, moan. Guiding her backwards until she bumped into the counter. He slid his hands down to grab her shirt. To yank it up, off as she raised her arms. He yanked off his. Stared at the bra. Kissed her again. Slow, sensuous fingers now plying the bra, yanking it down, down. He fingered her hips, yanked down the panties. She stepped out of them. He grabbed her rear and squeezed to make her yelp, whimper. He lifted her and set her on the counter. She grabbed onto his shoulders as he shoved her thighs apart. Kissed her deeply. A rough, demanding motion of his mouth on hers.

Moira lost herself in his kisses, his touches. His groans. His heavy breathing. He thrust into her suddenly, moaned in relief as she bathed him, enfolded him, clenched on him with erotic pleasure. With demands of her own. Moira writhed, arching as he thrust, thrust. Hard. Deep. But slowly as she could feel every inch of him plying her with exacting detail. She clasped his shoulders tightly as he rocked her on the counter. Her knees bending now as he kissed her. Mouth sliding sloppily to her breasts. Tongue teasing the faint scratch before sucking on the hard nipples. Stubble rough on her skin but erotic. She lost her breath, whimpering in nearly frenzied ecstasy at the way he was taking her.

John tasted, sucked, gently bit her nipple. Began thrusting faster. Hands on her hips to keep her in place. Exulting in the sheer physical pleasure, the sexual gratification of taking her. Dominating her so thoroughly. He was still hard, throbbing as her clitoris began to throb in response. He was so big he nearly struggled to fill her, angling her back a little as she arched, squirmed. Her soft moans and cries, her helpless whimpers only aroused him more and more. Only made him want her more and more. He only wanted to fuck her, fuck her until they were both sated, exhausted at the expense of everything else. Nothing else mattered but this driving need, the lust, the love. He knew was working out his anger as well but didn't care. As long as he didn't hurt her. Wouldn't hurt her. Faster, faster now, grunting loudly as he was coming.

Moira was rocked, banged repeatedly on the counter. Almost hitting the mirror behind her but John kept her in place. Sheathing the hard length of him in her as deeply as he could go. She whimpered, moaned wildly as the pleasure grew, grew. As he wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. She clawed his shoulders, his back as he thrust harder. Her feet flying off the floor now. Knees bent, thighs parted so wide as he took her, took her with intense passion. She flung back her head, hair flying. She arched, cried out in a strangled scream as the climax burst, slamming into her quivering, pulsing body. She sobbed, wept, clung. "John! Oh John, John, John!" she repeated in a stammering staccato. "John, John, John!" She was convinced she would die of an orgasm right then, right there.

John thrust harder, faster. Each motion of his cock punctuated now by the crying of his name. Angling her further back as her noises sputtered into the oh John litany. Her climax pulsing, helplessly pulsing over every inch of him, so tight. Squeezing as he strained, fought, slid as she flooded. He groaned, groaned. Shuddered at last as he shook with violent spasms, coming wildly inside her. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck oh fuck! Moira, my Moira! Fuck that is so fucking sweet!" he nearly shouted, his voice ringing on the bathroom walls. Acoustics echoing their symphony of noises. Their pleasure. He thrust a few more times, jerking, spurting, thinking he might just die right then with a permanent hard-on. But at last the sweet release absolved him.

"John, John, please," she rasped hoarsely, still being rocked but slower, slower now. "The sink. The sink is hurting my butt," she stammered.

"Huh?" He slowed gradually, as her words sunk into him. "Moira? Oh baby, baby, that pert little ass is getting all sore on the counter?" he taunted hoarsely. "We can't have that pert little ass sore, can we? Or that fucking sweet pussy," he growled, unable to stop himself.

"John!" she complained, alarmed at his words, his tone. "What the hell is–"

"Such fucking beautiful tits, baby. I should grab the camera. You are so fucking lush when you come, when I'm deep, deep inside you." He kissed her, ignoring her complaint even as he slowed to stop at last.

"John! John, oh John," she whimpered. Reeling from the thrumming pleasure. The intense orgasms. His odd attitude. "John!"

"Easy, easy, Moira. I'll take care of that pert little ass, don't you worry, baby." With a long exhalation he slid out of her finally. But grabbed her rear. "Wrap," he harshly ordered.

She did so, legs around his hips, arms around his neck. She kissed him gently. Sucked his lower lip. Circled his ear and nibbled as he carried her to the bed. He unceremoniously dumped her onto it. She laughed, but fell silent. Scrambled up to the pillows as he stood, staring at her. He slipped on top of her. Kissed her. Gently now, gentle, slow kisses. Fingers in her hair. Tongue darting, teasing. He nibbled her earlobe. Returned to her mouth as his body shifted on hers, feeling every part of her beneath him. Hot skin. Sweat. Sexual fluids mingling. Limbs tangled.

Moira stroked his arm. His back. His hair. Uncertain. "John?" she asked worriedly. "Why are you pissed?"

He was silent, kissing her throat again. Her shoulder. One hand stroking her side. He didn't want to talk. Just wanted to be with her. Replete after exuberant passion. Hungers sated.

"John? Why are you pissed?"she persisted. "Because, because I told the toast story?"

"No," he quietly answered.

"Because I intercepted that, that sargent?"

"No."

She sighed. "Tell me! Do I have to guess?"

He raised his head to meet her gaze. "How do you like it, baby? You used to do that to me and man that pissed me off! If there's a problem just tell me."

"I do. Now. Why are you pissed? Because I ruined your front swing?"

He smiled. "Back swing. And no."

"Because of the, um, the condom fiasco?"

His smile faded. "No. Well, a little. Your attitude, Moira."

"My attitude? No...no, it's not that. You blew that way out of proportion. You're deflecting like you always do when you are pissed about something else," she reasoned, frowning in thought. She moved slightly under him. "Weir. What happened in her office?"

He stared. "How the hell do you do that?" he wondered. "Even I didn't know why I–"

"Because you bury it, John. Deflect to this whole condom thing. So?"

He kissed her. Rolled off her. Stared up at the ceiling. "Nothing."

"John!" She rolled on top of him. "What is it? Why–"

"Moira, do you want to get married again?"

She stared at him. "What? No."

"No?" He raised a brow, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

She smiled. "One husband is more than enough, John, and last I checked I was still married to you. Unless I can have a husband in the Pegasus galaxy and one in the Milky Way galaxy. Like you do. A wife, an ex-wife, I mean. Not a husband. You don't have a husband as well, do you?"

"Moira," he scolded, trying not to laugh. "I am being serious."

"So am I, sweetie. I have you as my husband so I didn't think I'd be shopping around for another but if you insist I could always audition a few for–"

"Moira! I'm serious! Do you want to get married again? To me!" he clarified before she could respond. "Here. In Atlantis. The whole shebang."

She frowned. Rolled off him but he slid on top of her again, pinning her to the bed. "What? You suddenly want a wedding? The whole bother and fuss? Gown, tux, cake, presents, flowers, guests, the lot? I thought you didn't want all of that. You deplored that! Why would you want all of that now? Oh, is it to show your four fucking ex-lovers you–"

"No! I thought you might. I'm trying to be romantic here, Moira, damn it! Give a guy a break, would you?"

"A break? Romantic? After the most intense sex and orgasms you want to be romantic?"

"Forget it!" he snapped, rolling off her. Turning on his side away from her. Seething.

"John! What the hell is making you so pissy?" she demanded. She touched his bare back. "Did my comments about your lack of romance upset you? It was just a joke. You are romantic! You are the king of romantic gestures! The roses! The chocolates! Your teasing! The jewelry! Oh, the jewelry, John, my God! So extravagant! The fancy dresses! The singing, the dancing! The everything, John! It's only your, um, verbal skills that are lacking in that particular regard but you are getting better. You are! Oh...is it the photos?"

"Doesn't it bother you that we have no wedding photos?" he asked quietly, somewhat mollified by her words, her assurances.

"No. I mean we didn't have time. And I have those lovely photos of you in that tux and you have, well, you have naughty photos of me, porno really."

"Not porno. Artistically nude photos of your pert little ass and other–"

"John! Is that why you are still pissy? You want a full-blown wedding for some photos? I'll put on that dress and you can put on your dress blues and we can have someone take a few photos. If that's all you want. John? What happened in Weir's office?"

He sighed. "No post-coital talking, damn it."

She kissed his back, ran her hand down to his hip. "John," she soothed, "talk to me. You are always happy after sex. Especially exuberant sex. Loud sex. Why are you still pissy?"

"Fuck it!" He turned to her, moved her onto her back. Slid on top of her. Covered her mouth with his hand. "Why can't you stop talking after sex, Moira? Stop badgering me! Okay? I don't want to talk about it! I wanted to fuck so I fucked. I want to rest now so I'm resting now. Got it?" He freed her mouth, saw her surprise, her anger. Worry. He kissed her. "Sorry, sorry! I'm in a pissy mood despite that glorious sex we just had, I don't know why and I don't want to talk about it!"

"Fine. Then get the fuck off me," she stated tersely.

"Fine!" He rolled off her. "Damn it, Moira, I'll handle it! I'll handle all of it! It's not you, Moira, it's never you."

"Handle it?" she muttered. "Like you handle everything, huh, John? Stupid man!" She left him, moved to the bathroom and closed the door.

John cursed, berating himself. Knew he should be happy after the intense sex. So erotic. Primal. And he was. But several things were tangling in his mind at once. All the flak over the flash drive, the mission, not to mention Susan and the constant threat of Moira finding out every little detail of his indiscretion. He frowned, closed his eyes. So tired, sated. But conflicted.


	4. Chapter 4

Hibernation4

Moira stepped out of the bathroom. Clean. Clothed. She tied her hair back from her face. John was still sprawled on the bed. Had fallen into a doze, snoring slightly. She shook her head, simply left. Angered and hurt. Puzzled by his mood, his refusals to talk to her. To tell her anything. She strode through the city. Quickened her steps seeing Elizabeth in the control room.

"Doctor Weir? May I have a word? I need to know..."

Elizabeth eyed her. Curious at her flustered appearance. Stern expression. "Of course, Moira. What do you need to know?"

"I find it easier to be blunt in these, um, situations."

"All right. Be blunt," Elizabeth humored her.

"What happened in your office to piss off John?"

Elizabeth stared. Blinked. Taken aback for a moment. "Wow, you weren't kidding about being blunt, were you?"

"No. Sorry. It's just because he's in a real pissy mood when he shouldn't be, and I'm trying to figure out why."

"Oh. And of course he won't tell you."

Moira sighed. "No. You know how damn reticent he can be."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes. Let me be blunt, Moira. He placed four women on the transfer list for no good reason. Didn't you ask him to do that?"

"What? No. I didn't know. He never said he...the, the four fucking ex-lovers?" she whispered, wondering. Surprised. Impressed.

"What? You really didn't know?" Elizabeth inquired. Had assumed Moira was behind it. "I can't be sure, but since they are all civilians and have been here longer than you have I assumed they were, um, former, um, dates of his." She appeared uncomfortable.

"I didn't know, honestly. I never even asked him to...wow...that's so–"

"Unprofessional, yes," Elizabeth misinterpreted. "I need to discuss this with him before I can even consider approving his suggestions."

"No, romantic. That he would do that for me," she marveled.

"And then there's the flash drive. You knew about this too, didn't you? Tell me, Moira, why is John refusing to give it to me? He offered to send me copies of the files he's already shared with Carson and Rodney, but I need to see the whole thing. He said there is personal stuff on there."

Moira nodded. Realizing the reasons for her husband's mood at last. "Yes. There is. Messages from his dark side version. For me. I think it would be better if John had the flash drive. You really don't need to see that other stuff. But of course you need to see the files on the Wraith and the technology and the anomaly."

"I need to see any and all files that pertain to the security of this city."

"And you will, Doctor Weir. We will make copies of all relevant files. But not the personal ones. Look, John is rather, um, touchy about his dark side version. About the interactions with, with me. And none of that has any bearing on the security of this city, of this reality. Don't push him on this," she warned gravely, "please don't."

Elizabeth considered. "All right. As long as I receive all pertinent data I will leave the rest be, for now. And I won't approve those transfers without valid reasons."

Moira nodded. "Fair enough. Thank you."

* * *

John exited the cafeteria, one last longing look directed at the beer before he left. A package of fudge under his arm. He had woken alone. Sprawled on the bed, lost in erotic memories until he suddenly remembered the things he had said to Moira. He strode down the hallway. Realized his expression must be grim as marines parted for him. Straightened. Even a nervous captain saluted. He entered the botany lab, found it empty to his relief. He grabbed a canvas bag, began to fill it with roses. Snatching them by the bunches.

Cursing himself, Moira, everyone in his head. Emotions tangled, thoughts racing. Pissed the euphoria from the sex was not making him as happy as he should be. Deploring the things he had said to Moira. The way he had treated her. His wife. His lover. His beloved. He berated himself. Shut out all the conflicting thoughts, emotions, slamming the door on what was really bothering him without a thought as he headed back to his quarters. He entered, arranged the flowers on the table. Held onto the caramel fudge and sat on their bed. Waiting.

Moira entered their room. Froze. Holding onto the two beers, one in each hand. She glanced at the table. At the dozens and dozens of roses. Pinks and scarlets. Fuchsias.

"I, um, I didn't think roses would be enough for this. So I got you this as well." He stood. Walked to her carefully, lest he spook her. "Moira?" He stared at her surprised, solemn expression. The two beers.

Moira met his gaze. Saw his guilty expression. And the lingering anger. She glanced at the fudge. "Caramel?"

He smiled. "Of course."

"Trade?"

He took one of the beers from her hand. Gave her the fudge. He was about to take the second beer when she snatched it away from his reaching hand. "Moira?"

"No. I want some of this. You can have the rest when I'm done."

"That bad?" he tried to joke, but she scowled at him.

"What do you think?"

He sighed. Opened the beer and downed half of it in long swallows. Moira stared, watching his lips around the bottle's opening. The long swallows along his throat. The tilt of his head, his jaw. He licked his lips, headed for the bed. He sat, balanced the bottle on his knee. Moira opened hers. Sipped. Grimaced at the taste.

John stood. Set the beer on the table near the bed. Stepped to her as she hadn't moved. Hadn't followed him. She set the beer on the table behind her, watching him. Her silence forcing him to speak, which irritated him. He licked his lips again. Oddly nervous. "Moira, um, look, Moira, um, look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She placed her finger on his lips, silencing him. "No! Do you know what to apologize for, John? Because unless you do I don't want to hear it." She saw the flare of annoyance in his green eyes. Ignored it. "Not for the sex." Surprise now. His brows raised slightly. "You don't have to apologize for the sex, John. Not at all. The sex was, was...astounding. I mean, you said we couldn't possibly top the sex we had at that mountain resort but I think we did. I mean, I mean, my God, John, you were so, so...so primal! Animalistic, wild..." She caught herself, coloring at his smug, amused expression. "We can talk about it later, if you don't mind, since you don't like talking to me, but you need to talk to me, John, about everything!"

He moved her hand from his mouth, said, "Any time, Moira. I will talk about sex with you any time. So I didn't hurt you?" he asked, amusement fleeing as guilt, concern surfaced.

"No. No, you didn't hurt me at all, John. Not during the sex. Despite your um, your–"

"Lust?" he supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, okay, lust...we were so turned on, so hungry for each other despite your anger, your aggression, your need, your strength and stamina you are skilled and gentle and never hurt me during sex."

He smiled. "Ah. Well, I won't ever hurt you during sex, Moira. I know exactly how far to push, how deep to enter, how fast to–"

"No, you didn't hurt me during the sex," she reiterated, cutting off his smug, teasing tone. "Only afterwards."

His amusement, arousal fled. He frowned. "Moira. I...fuck this!" He pulled her into his arms, kissed her. A long, sensual kiss as his hands caressed her back. Kept her there.

"John!" she protested softly, trying to pull free. "You need to talk to me!"

"Moira, no." He kissed her again, keeping her body pressed to his. "Moira, sweetheart, I'm so sorry! I don't know why I am so pissy, why I said those terrible things to you, treated you like just another piece of ass to fuck and fuck and then dump. Moira, please, I'm so sorry! So sorry," he murmured sincerely in her ear, her hair. Hiding his face in her hair as he pulled the band to free the long, brown tresses. He kissed her throat.

Moira hugged him suddenly. Hearing his sincerity, his guilt. His almost desperate need to soothe her. "John, John, I–"

"No! Moira, no!" he said curtly. Fiercely. Grip on her tightening. "I'm sorry, baby, so very sorry! I love you, Moira. I love you, I don't want to lose your love. I can't, I can't lose you," he said softly into her hair, her ear. "You have to understand, Moira, you have to forgive me, you just have to," he insisted earnestly. He felt a weird sorrow, a burning of unshed tears in his eyes. Blinked them back angrily. "Please, Moira, please let me make it up to you, make all of it up to you, sweetheart, I'll do anything! Anything you want. Name it. It's yours."

Moira was stunned. Shocked by his desperate need, his desperate guilt over something she couldn't imagine. Knew nothing about, but realized it was worse than the things he had said to her. Worse than not talking to her at all. She kissed him. Over and over, soothing his tension, his fears. "John, oh John, you won't lose my love. You won't lose me, whatever it is that you've done, or think you've done. Talk to me, John, please. You need to tell me. Beyond all the rest. Beyond Weir coming down on you about transferring those four fucking ex-lovers. Beyond Weir wanted the flash drive and everything on it. There's something else, isn't there?"

He stared at her. Grip gentling. "How the hell did you–"

"Yes. I talked to Weir. What else was I supposed to do, John? You wouldn't talk to me!"

He freed her. Sat on the bed, grabbing the beer. He downed it in long swallows. Tossed the now empty bottle onto the floor where it rolled. "Shit. You didn't need to know any of that! Damn it, Moira! Let's just have sex. Sex will take care of–"

"No, John, it won't! You are deflecting again! Talk to me!"

"No. We need sex, baby. No talk. Just sex. You know, Moira, there is nothing, nothing like a cold beer after an especially satisfying session of pure, uncomplicated fucking. Don't you agree?"

She sighed, not rising to the bait. "You are still deflecting."

"Damn. I'm sorry, Moira. I didn't mean, well, I did mean that, actually, but...shit. And then you go behind my back to talk to Weir!"

"I didn't go behind your back, John! How could you even say that? If you must know I saved that fine, fine ass of yours by convincing her to accept only the files we copied for Carson and Rodney. And as for those fucking four ex-lovers of yours she assumed I put you up to it but I didn't and by the way that was a very considerate thing you are doing for me. Especially when Weir will come down on you for it."

He scowled. "Yeah, well...shit. I thought you'd be pissed so I didn't want to tell you I..." He glared at the floor. Wanting to tell her. Needing to tell her. Unable. "Fuck. I'm backsliding, Moy. Like I used to be. Pushing you away so you don't see."

"Don't see what, John?" she asked, stepping closer.

"So you don't see...never mind." He stood. Stepped past her to grab the other beer. To down it in quick swallows. She turned, watching him. When the bottle was empty he tossed it carelessly onto the table. It rolled among the roses. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"John, it's not that I don't trust you. I do," she assured. "It's just...it's awkward. If I happen to run into one of them, and well, I want...I want to be the only one who knows you. Knows every inch of you, John. My John. Not theirs. Mine. I told Weir it was romantic, what you are doing for me. The transfers. And I'm sorry I hurt your feelings about not being very romantic. Because you are, John, you are. Not just with words. You are in extravagant ways, and in little ways. I do appreciate it, John, I do notice everything you do for me. With me."

He relaxed a little, although he knew how horribly awkward it would be if Susan were ever to talk to Moira. To tell her things. To reveal the indiscretion. "I,um...I do try to be...you know. I'm not good at this, Moy. Never have been. At least the, the verbal part. Now the sex. The sex I excel at, right?"

"Yes, John, you do." She wondered why he wouldn't face her. Stood staring at the table. The roses. His back to her. "And the, um, the condom fiasco. Um, look, can we please have that particular discussion later. About, about starting or even thinking about starting a...having a...I mean, I didn't mean to cut you off, cut you out of it. The decision to have or not to have a..."

"But you did," he reminded, curious at her obvious reluctance to even say the words family or baby. Much less talk about it. Feeling himself on firmer ground he turned to her.

Moira looked at her hands. "I did. You're right. I'm sorry. I was upset, I was sick at the time, but not from being, being pregnant. I think, I think we both agree now is not the time to start that but in the future, of course we could think of it. Once things calm down. I know nothing calms down in the Pegasus galaxy but you know what I mean, John. We should enjoy each other first, don't you agree? Our lives are complicated enough without adding another to them, so, so...it's not that I don't want to have your, um, your offspring, because I do, of course I do, I mean, I knew with all of the sex and then the marriage we would eventually...so, so just not now. Okay? Okay, John?"

He stared. She was close to tears. Stressed, unhappy. He was mollified by her assurances, her words. Amused she could talk about a baby without actually using the word. Wondered at that, curious. "Okay, Moira," he gently agreed.

"Thank you." Her relief was obvious. "And the, the condom...if you think you really need to use them, then okay. I'm on the pill but if you still think you need to use them I won't object any more. Just, um, just get bigger ones, would you?"

He smiled. Charmed by her flustered state. Her words. He snorted a laugh. "Wow, okay. You just made my day, Moira."

"I'm serious, John. That thing was so tight I could barely get it off you...it must have been painful to say the least."

"You have no idea, baby, but you..." He moved to her. Caught her hands in his. Caressing. "You were so gentle, so soft, so soothing...so fucking arousing I nearly came in your hands." He kissed her. Drawing her mouth to his, her face up to his. "Let's just see how it goes, shall we? Take it nice and slow with these things."

"Okay, John, I..." She colored. Sighed. The difficult part was over. Now she had to enter the minefield. "I'm sorry. It's my fault, I'm guessing. I opened the doors and I shouldn't have. And now they won't stay closed, will they? Is that what is really bothering you?"


	5. Chapter 5

Hibernation5

John stared at her. Thrown for a moment, then seeing another way not to tell her. "Come again?"

"I, I shouldn't have rushed into it. Like I always rush into everything. I'm sorry." Moira eyed their clasped hands. "It's the real reason you've deflected all of your anger onto lesser, minor things. I didn't mean to push you. You're not ready, and I...I'm not even sure I'm ready." She freed his hands. Moved to the table. Her back to him now as she stared at the roses. Forlorn. "It's just...I'm not even sure I want to shut the door. I know you do, I can see it now. You want your doors firmly shut, all of those thoughts, memories locked tightly away instead of creeping to the surface."

He realized what she was talking about, the things they had slowly revealed to each other about their pasts. He frowned. Knew that she was correct in that it was affecting his mood, his anger, his resentment. Nearly as much as the indiscretion and the guilt attached to it was haunting him. His needling of little things, being pissed at minor things and taking them all out of context.

"So have mine," she admitted. "I had....I had the most evil thought today, John. That if, if I hadn't have insisted we go to that expedition site that day, if I had just listened and heeded his warnings he'd still be alive. I would never have come here. Never have met you, fallen in love with you, gotten married to you. And I didn't want to imagine my life like that. Without you. As if I was glad, or relieved he was dead because I'm with you now, here." She felt tears. "You see how, how horrible I am."

"No, Moira. You are not–"

"I wanted the door opened, John! I'm so tired, so tired of carrying all of this with me every day, every night! I finally met someone who truly understands. Who knows the guilt, the darkness. And I finally felt comfortable enough to talk to you about it. I haven't talked to anyone about this for years. I know you're not ready and I don't know if I am. I want to be ready. And that has never happened. You, you don't have to tell me anything. Or if you do, in your own time. I didn't mean to push you, John. I don't even know if I can tell you everything either."

He moved to her. Touched her shoulders. Felt her tension, her sorrow like a living thing on her. In her. "You can tell me anything, Moy. Anything."

"I can't. I'm afraid, John," she softly admitted. "As much as I want to tell you I'm afraid. As much as you love me I'm afraid it won't be enough. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Of losing your love. Your respect. But you are the only one who would truly understand it all. But I couldn't bear to lose you, to see that look in your eyes. You know? The disbelief, the revulsion, the shock..."

"Never. You'll never see that look in my eyes, Moy. Never." He wondered if he would ever see it in hers. Dreaded the thought.

"My aunt looked at me like that. Aunt Peggy, remember? The one you called Cruella. She blamed me, like the rest did. Threw me out, nearly disowned me. If not for Uncle Shamus, and the professor I would have..."

"Moira." He slid his arms around her. Pulled her gently against him. Kissed her throat. "Never. I know all about that look. The disbelief. The revulsion. The shock. In others. In my own eyes when I look too closely in the mirror. My father practically disowned me. My brother barely tolerated me, and he was the most understanding. Yeah, you opened the doors, and I am here whenever you are ready to talk about it. Any of it. I'll never love you less. Hell, I am more in love with you now than I was before, Moy. I don't want the door open. Do you want to know why?"

"Okay, John," she whispered, catching his hands at her waist. He was enfolding her in love, in warmth. Security. Trust, that most precious gift of all.

He kissed her throat. "Because it's worse. Worse than yours, Moy. Worse because it still happens. Afghanistan. Antarctica. Now Atlantis. Every time I lose someone I can't help but go through the long list, all the way back to the worst one. The first one. I'm a monster, Moy," he darkly admitted. "Only no one knows it. Except you. And part of me wants to tell you, longs to tell you because you are the one person who will understand me, understand what I am. But I don't want to risk losing you. You've seen a glimpse, Moy, today. I've started to backslide because that fucking door is opened and I can't quite shut it all the way. Because I've done things, albeit unknowingly, not meaning to, that will break us, break you and I just can't risk that. I can't! I don't want to hurt you, Moy, but I have. I did. I don't want to cause you a single tear but I have. I will. So I have to push you away from me. Before you see me. The real me. Not the John you think you know, think you love, but the battered boy beneath. The one no one sees. All those women, Moy, they only want my cock. Some wanted my heart. But none wanted to get into my head. Only you. And now you have all three, and the thought of losing you scares the hell out of me."

Moira turned to him, eyes wet. Wide at this suddenly loquacious disclosure. Guilt and worry shone in his brilliant green eyes. She touched his face, as if she could erase his pain. "You won't lose me, John. You are no monster. You are just a man. A good man with a troubled, maybe even horrible past. I have a past like that. I'm a monster too. I can–"

"No. I'll never believe that, Moy. I don't care what you did, what you think you did. I'll never leave you, or stop loving you."

"John..." She hugged him tightly, tears falling. "Oh John, John...I need to hold onto you!"

"I need to hold onto you too, Moy, so you see? We're stuck with each other, aren't we?" he said into her ear. "For better or worse." He closed his eyes. Considering the worse. "I won't let go, Moira. Just don't leave me, Moira. Promise me, promise me."

"I promise, John, I promise," she murmured to his insistent, low tone. She kissed his throat as he hid his face in her hair. "This thing...the thing you can't quite tell me...it's bad?"

"Yes." He guided her mouth to his, kissing her. Kiss after kiss, drowning all words. All thoughts. "Moira, my Moira," he muttered, drawing her towards the bed. "I need you, Moy. And this, this is the only way I know how to make it all go away. To make it all better. To drown us in love and sex and sex and to shut those fucking doors," he said low, moving them onto the bed. Sliding his body over hers.

She pulled him closer, kissing him. Small, soft whimpers issuing from her throat as he angled his body along hers. "John, oh John...don't go yet. Not yet. Whatever, whatever this thing is you can tell me...whatever...something when you were, were injured? When you forgot–"

"Yes, I swear to God I couldn't find you, Moy, otherwise it never would have happened," he muttered, the confessing leaking out of him as she persisted. Her assurances of love and understanding a balm to his own guilt. "I'm not going anywhere, baby," he stated. "I love you, Moira, like I've never loved anyone else. Give yourself to me, give me all of your love for me," he urged, hands sliding under her shirt, tugging at her pants. All the while his mouth busily engaged in an exploration of hers, then her throat.

Moira was torn between easing the confession out of him and giving into his sensual demands, needs. Matching her own as she craved his love, his passion. His hand freed her breast to slide down into her pants. Into her panties, long fingers plying the fabric to slip between her opening thighs as he shifted on her. Growing erection pressing her thigh. She caught his mouth with hers in a long, passionate drowning, surrender.

John broke the kiss, fingers pausing on her pelvis. He lifted his head, looked around. His brows furrowed. "Did you hear that, sweetheart?"

"Huh? Hear what?"she breathed, caressing his arm. Taking a breath after all those kisses. Lost in passion, intimacy, tenderness. She drew his face back to hers, kissed him. "John, love me," she urged, nibbling, sucking his lower lip. His fingers slid down to her cleft to caress, to rub and she murmured, shifted invitingly. But he stopped again. Breaking a kiss, fingers pausing. "John?"

"I heard my name being called, Moira. Listen."

"It's not me, sweetie. I haven't even gotten close to oh John, oh John yet."

He smiled. Met her amorous gaze. "You will, baby, don't you worry. There!" He sat, freeing her. "Colonel Sheppard! Hear it? What happened to my earpiece?" he wondered, raising his hand to his ear and finding the comm unit gone.

She sighed. "It's, um, I threw it into the sink."

"The sink? Oh...oh yes," he smiled broadly. "Hope it was switched off, baby, because between our loud, animalistic exuberance and those acoustics we could have broadcast that sex all across the city."

"Hilarious, John! Go!"

"I'm serious, Moira. It was probably on citywide too, so everyone heard our primal mating, didn't they? The whole city has a–"

"John Sheppard! Go!" she ordered sternly.

He sighed. "Why is it always mid-coitus, Moira?"

She smiled. "We're not mid-coitus, sweetie. Not even pre-coitus. And stop calling it coitus!"

He smirked. "Hold that thought, baby."

"Which one? Pre or mid?"

"Full. Full fucking coitus. Oh, wait. Is that redundant?"

"Never with you, sweetie."

He laughed. Kissed her. Leapt off the bed and sprinted to the bathroom. He snatched his earpiece from the sink, slid in over his ear. "Yes? This is Sheppard! Damn thing has some kind of technical malfunction. Copy?" He fixed his pants, adjusting himself awkwardly. "Crap."

"Sir? The two o'clock is about to commence."

"The two...oh shit. I mean, yes, I know that. On my way. Sheppard out." He swore, exited the bathroom. Moira was off the bed, straightening the messy blankets. Clothes no longer rumpled. Hair gathered into a ponytail. "Um, Moira, I–"

"And what about our two o'clock, colonel?" she asked, pausing to view him. Hands on hips. Expression stern.

He smirked. "Baby, if I had known our two o'clock was actually scheduled at two o'clock I would have moved the other two o'clock to three, or even four depending on how we got it on."

"Cute. Very. Next time I'll slip it into your mission specs," she teased.

"Next time I'll slip it into your–" he began lewdly, gaze roving over her.

"I got it, colonel! Or I would have," she sighed dramatically. "Go." She moved around the bed.

He stepped to her, catching her. "Sorry, sweetheart. I have to go do this. Plan the mission for tomorrow. To that facility, and arrange sufficient security detail here while we are gone. Look, I'll meet you for a very late lunch, say in one hour?"

She smiled. Kissed him. "Okay, John. One hour." Her fingers slid up his arm. "Then you had better be able to deploy that hard ordnance of yours at my purview. Got it, soldier?"

"Yes, ma'am. Repeatedly." He kissed her. Smacked her rear and left.


	6. Chapter 6

Hibernation6

Moira sat in the cafeteria, shaking her head as John quickly joined her. Balancing a tray full of food. He smiled, shrugged. Sat across from her. Placed a piece of chocolate cake onto her nearly empty tray. She smirked. "What's this? A peace offering?"

"Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart. I'm only half an hour late. Starving." He began to eat.

She smiled. Ate some of the cake. "Okay, John. Just this once I'll let you slide since you brought me cake."

"I intend to do a lot of that. Sliding, that is," he remarked with a leer. Raised a brow.

"Hilarious, John. Eat your lunch." Moira shook her head, sipped some water. Glanced round the cafeteria. Saw a blond woman staring at them. Wondered at it. She looked at John as he heartily devoured his food. "Are we a go for the mission?"

He nodded. Swallowed. Took a long drink of beer. "Yes. Two teams. Everything's in place. What do you think we'll find there?"

Moira shrugged. "I have no idea. Remember what the colonel said, John?" she asked, warming to the subject. "_Fons et origo. In rerum natura._ The source and origin. In the nature of things. Find the beginning to find the end, he said. Whatever is there is has something to do with the Wraith. That facility holds the key. Somehow. Although Reynolds and his team reported nothing of interest. No life whatsoever, except for Baldy. I guess Baldy mark two, since mark one was killed by those cavemen. Do you think he is the key, John? Some kind of genetic mutation? Or a clone? Is that even possible? John?"

He swallowed. Licked his lips. "Huh? You lost me at the Latin, baby. All that rambling," he teased, snorted as she kicked his ankle under the table. "What? How the hell should I know?"

"Why do I bother?" she lamented, shaking her head.

"Why? Two words."

"Two words? And what are those two words?" she asked, smiling.

He smiled. Leaned towards her. "Multiple orgasms," he said low. Raised a brow. Sat back and smugly grinned.

She laughed. "Oh. That's true," she agreed. Kicked his ankle again. "Stop that."

"Stop what?" he asked, gaze roving over her. "Primal. Animalistic. Hot."

"So fucking sweet," she rejoined softly, smirking as he laughed.

Susan stared at John and Moira. They appeared to be the happy couple. Sitting across from each other. Talking quietly. Flirting outrageously. Gazing into each other's eyes. Smiling. As if they didn't have a care in the world, except for each other. Susan's blood boiled. She stood. Smiled. Lifted a bottle and strolled over to them. Boldly she set the bottle down between them. "Honey, you forgot this. You left it in my room, although we didn't need it. Not at all."

Time froze. John froze. He tensed, stomach rolling. He slowly looked from Moira to the bottle of caramel sauce poised between them. To Susan who was smiling. Her gaze locked on Moira. A self-satisfied gleam in her blue eyes. He hated her in that moment. A hate so raw, so vivid his hands clenched into fists. He glared at her. A glare full of fury, of bitter coldness that made her smile falter as she eyed him. "Get the fuck away from us," he ordered. Voice a low snarl.

Moira was staring at the bottle of caramel sauce. Her bottle of caramel sauce. John's hesitant, convoluted words, his haphazard confession clicking into place now. The reason for his guilt. His anguish. His worry. It all made perfect sense now. What he had tried to tell her but couldn't. What had happened during his amnesia.

John looked at his wife. "Moira?" He swallowed, dismissing Susan. The other woman stared, then slowly walked away from them. Torn between triumph and dismay. "Um, Moira, it's not as bad as it looks. I wasn't myself. I swear to God everything I told you was the absolute truth. The amnesia. The–"

"When?" Her voice was taut, but soft. So soft he nearly had to strain to hear. Her gaze fixed on the bottle. As if it was her deadliest adversary.

"When what?" he asked worriedly.

"When did you remember? When did you remember me? Before, during, or after?"

John gulped. Her accuracy uncanny. "I, I, look, it's not what you're thinking! I, I don't even know why I brought that bottle, maybe subliminally I knew it would trigger me, I mean I never even took off my wedding ring although I couldn't remember why I had it on and even accused my friends of some kind of prank or joke or....it wasn't like that, Moira! I could, I could barely get it up and she had to suck it to get it to...and even then I couldn't really get it to...look, I didn't fuck her. I didn't! She, um, fucked me, just for a few minutes, I mean a few seconds, no time at all and then I saw–"

"When? Before, during, or after?" she repeated curtly. Interrupting his halting, increasingly awkward explanations.

John hesitated. Actually felt a blush warming his face. His heart skipping a beat. All the while Moira was staring at the bottle. Brown eyes harsh. "Um, um, during. But it wasn't anything! I swear! A few minutes, I mean a few seconds and it was over! I threw her off me when I saw that bottle. Remembered you! Memories of you flooded me like a physical wave. Moira? Moira?"

Moira stood. Finally met his anxious gaze. "Well, colonel, I guess we're even now, aren't we?"

"Huh?"

"Don't you remember what you said to me? Since I slept with the colonel you said you could snap your fingers and go fuck one of your lots some women to even the score?"

"Moira! I never meant it! I wouldn't do that to you! It wasn't like that, I swear!"

She shook her head, one hand raised to halt him as he was about to stand. "I know. I understand, John. Just give me...give me an hour."

"Moira, please, I swear, I tried to tell you but I couldn't, I mean I tried to–" he stammered, moving to his feet and grabbing her arm before she left. Fled.

"Let go, John," she said. Calm. Collected.

"I can't. I won't let go, Moira," he said sincerely. Nevertheless he freed her arm.

"An hour." She walked away from him. Past the tables of people staring, wondering what the conflict was. Past the table where Susan sat, a smile lining her face. Moira ignored her. Ignored all of them. Ignored John as he stood, frozen in place as he watched her leave the cafeteria. Leave him. He snatched the bottle of caramel sauce of the table. Stalked out of the room and headed for the armory. Needing to shoot something, anything. Needing something to do while he gave her the time she had requested. Dreading what he would find when he went to her.

* * *

Moira sat in the bathroom. Door locked. Quiet. Wet washcloth in her hands. Face flushed, red, wet from the water. From the copious tears she had shed. From the violent outburst of emotion that had to be released, had to be endured and expressed. The anger. Fury. Jealousy. Sorrow. Despair. Until she was calmer. Could think rationally. Consider everything in a more detached, scientific perspective. Analyze John's every word, every action. Her own. Even the other woman's motives. Desires.

She blew her nose. Wiped her face again. Froze, hearing noises in the other room. Footsteps. Frowned. Instead of an hour John had apparently decided half an hour was enough. She tensed. Unwilling to face him. Wishing he would go away. Disappear. She felt tears and forced them away once more. Kept silent although he would know where she was.

She stood. Resenting his intrusion, his impatience. She took a deep breath, released it. Moved to the door. Unlocked it. Opened it. She stepped out of the bathroom, paused. John was standing in the middle of the room. Looking at the floor. Where broken glass was crunching under his shoes. Where roses were strewn. Petals violently flung, shredded into a maze of red and pink and magenta hues like a carpet. "Um...I, I..."

"Moira storm?" he asked quietly, looking up to meet her gaze. Saw her sorrow, her anxiety. Her tears. He didn't move, uncertain. Waiting. Tension roiling.

"Yeah. Bad one, too." Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest. A wave of emotion flooding. Trembling on the brink of loss, of love. Of anger. She rushed to him. Engulfed him in an embrace. "John! John!" she muttered fiercely against his chest, hiding her face.

John relaxed, arms encircling her. He kissed her brow. "Moira, my Moira. I am sorry! So sorry! I swear, I swear, I never meant, I never ow!" He drew back as she punched him. Punched his chest again, shaking free of his embrace.

"You bastard! You fucking, fucking bastard!" But she flung herself into his arms again, clinging desperately to him. Tears falling despite herself.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered into her hair. Kissing gently. Arms enfolding her once more. "Moira. I love you, Moira, I only want you, I need you, I want ow!"

She had hit him again. Pushed free of him. "No!" She moved away from him. "I, I should clean this up." She grabbed a broom, began to sweep the petals, the broken glass.

John grabbed the broom handle, halting her. "Moira. Talk to me, sweetheart." She pulled the broom free, continued sweeping. Ignoring him. Hating him. Wanting him. She swept around him, as if he was an impenetrable obstacle in her path. John watched her movements. The sweep of the broom. The twist of her hips. "Moira. Moira!" He grabbed the broom from her. "Leave it! It doesn't matter!"

She glared at him. Snatched it back from his grasp. "It does! Look at the mess I made! That you caused! You! You and your wandering cock!" She resumed sweeping. "Move! Move!" She pushed him out of the way. Swept. Turned to him suddenly, grasping the broom so tightly the whites of her knuckles showed. "Did you?"

"Did I what?" he asked, accepting her blame, her anger. Wondering how in the world to placate her. To soothe her.

"Did you use it? Did you use the caramel?" she asked. Terse.

"No."

"Well, that's something," she muttered. Relaxing. Swept the mess to one side. Sighed. "Do we have something to sweep this into? No? I guess I'll have to improvise."

John watched her. He hadn't even been aware they had a broom, much less any other housecleaning items. "Moira? Leave it! Damn it! Leave it!" He moved to her, grabbed her. Pulled her across the room to the bed.

"Let go of me! Let go of me, damn it! John, John, just let–"

He kissed her. A hard, almost brutal kiss. Tongue thrusting into her mouth. Shoving her body into his. She squirmed, fighting. Pushing but he was too strong. Holding her in place along his body. Pressing, insisting. Mouth capturing hers over and over until she murmured, yielded. Hands clutching instead of pushing now.

Moira pushed suddenly, coming up for air. Could feel his erection pressing into her. "John? John! No way! No!" She stared, appalled, aroused. Confused.

He smiled. "Baby, we need this. We so need this. You. Me."

"You...you..."

"Oh yes, baby. Me. Me." He kissed her, gently this time. Slowly. Grabbing her hips to guide her into a gyration on him. Then her rear to squeeze, slide along him. "Moira. Only you, Moira. Only you."

Moira sighed. Gently freed herself. Flustered. "John...only here can this kind of shit happen. Only in the Pegasus galaxy can I sleep with your dark side alternate reality self and you get lacunar amnesia and go sleep with a lots some woman." She moved to the table. "God I need a beer. You?"

He smiled. "Hell yes, Moira. At least two." He approached her. Touched her shoulder. "Um, Moira...are we...are we okay? I mean...um...Moira?"

She turned to him. "I...I'll go get the beers. Wait here for me, John. Oh." She crossed into his room.

John worried. He hesitated. "Moira?" He entered his room. She was gone. He looked round, curious as to what she had been doing. He moved to the dresser. Noticed his holster. His empty holster. He stared a moment. "Oh shit," he said calmly. Quickly exited to intercept her.

* * *

Moira felt oddly calm. Collected. She grasped the handgun firmly. Made sure the safety was on and slid it into her pants behind her shirt. Draped her shirt over it. Strode resolutely, considering where to find the other woman. Directed her steps as questions brought her closer. Closer as she found herself in one of the agricultural laboratories. She crossed the floor. Glancing at test tubes full of seeds and grains. She glared at the woman who was working on some intricate sorting. Seed by seed. Squinting through a lens. "Susan Williams."

The woman started, spilling seeds all across the table. She swore, turned in her chair. "Who the hell is...oh. You." She stared. Surprised.

"Yes. Me. Moira Sheppard," Moira identified, each word curt. Precise.

"Did John–"

"Oh yes. John told me. Told me everything. How you took advantage of him. No, how you ignored the fact that he is married to me and tried to fuck him anyway," she corrected.

"And I did, and he–"

"Didn't despite your best attempts, yes I know, and I really don't care. I really don't. You heard my husband earlier. Just stay the fuck away from us. Got it?"

Susan snorted. Moved to her feet to face the other woman. "Well, that depends on John, now, doesn't it? What if he suffers another bout of amnesia? Or decides he prefers my company to yours. Wants something different on the menu instead of the same old–"

"I see. Let me make myself perfectly clear." Moira drew the gun.


	7. Chapter 7

Hibernation7

The shot rang out. It echoed in the room, out into the hallway. Into John's ears as he ran into the agricultural lab. Skidded to a halt. Moira was standing stiffly. Arms outstretched, gun balanced in both hands. The weapon lowered to the floor. A container of seeds was splattered across the wall, the floor. Seeds and glass spread everywhere. Susan was standing near the desk, wide-eyed. Shock on her pale face.

"Got it now, bitch?" Moira calmly inquired. "Stay the fuck away from us." She relaxed her hold of the gun. Turned as John was standing behind her, a mixture of pride and concern on his handsome face. "John." She handed him the gun.

"Moira." He took it, checked to make sure the safety was back on. He turned as marines rushed into the room, pausing in uncertainty.

"Arrest her! She tried to shoot me!" Susan flared.

"No. I didn't shoot you. I shot the container," Moira clarified. Voice calm, so calm.

"Accident. Gun went off. Dismissed," John ordered. Gestured. The marines filed out, casting curious glances at John, at the two women.

"No! That's not what happened! She–"

"That is what happened," John sternly advised. Touched his wife's arm. "Moira." He guided her out of the room. Turned to Susan once more. "And if you say otherwise I'll just return this gun to my wife and walk away. And no one, no one will question me. Or her. Got it? Thought so." He followed after Moira as she headed down the hallway. "Um, Moira?"

"Did you really think I was going to shoot her?" she asked, as they entered their room.

"No, I, crap, I didn't know what to think. Moira, um, look, I..."

"Save it, flyboy. Are we still going on the mission tomorrow?"

"The what? The, oh. Yes. Um, Moira, I–"

"No, John. I'll gather the research then" She eyed him a moment. Began to pull off her wedding ring. Tugging determinedly at the gold band.

"Moira, no! Please!" John exclaimed, rushing to catch her hand in his.

"What? No, no, you're not getting rid of me that easily, John," she soothed, realizing what he had been thinking. "Don't you remember? You said not to wear our rings off world, on missions."

"Oh. Yeah, I did," he recalled, relief a wave hitting him. "I've changed my mind. Keep it on, Moira. Keep it on and never take it off. Okay?"

"Okay, if that's what you want, John."

"It is. What I want. Moira, Moira, I swear I never, never meant to ever cheat on you or–"

"I know." She brushed her lips across his. "I've got work to do before we go on the mission. I'll see you later, John." She freed her hand. Quietly left.

John stood, staring after her. Not certain what to do. Worried. Wanting her. He holstered the gun. Decided to give her some time, some space. Wondering if his marriage was over even before it had truly begun.

* * *

Moira trudged to her room. She yawned behind her hand. She had been collating data for hours in the bio lab. Until the sequences started to blur into one another. Reluctant to return to he room, to John she finally surrendered to fatigue. She entered her room, crossed to the bathroom and got ready for bed.

She emerged, clad in her sabertooth cat pajamas and a pair of fuzzy socks. Turned off the lights and stood staring at the bed. John was already there, sprawled on his side. His back to her. She frowned. Sat. Shoved his arm. "John. John! I know you are not asleep! Get out."

John's eyes were open. He had heard her entrance. The soft sounds as she got ready for bed. Removing clothes. Replacing them with pajamas to his disappointment. Now her anger and weariness were hitting him. He rolled onto his back to see her. "What?"

"You heard. Get out."

"Out?" he asked, heart hammering for a moment. He glanced down at her left hand but the wedding ring was still there. A circle of gold and diamonds glinting.

She sighed. "Get out of my bed and into yours, colonel," she clarified. Waiting.

"Oh." He sat, frowned. "Moira, this is our bed and I–"

"No, John, not tonight. Tonight this is my bed. So you go to yours. Go!"

He debated. Reluctantly slid out of the covers. Stood as she took his place. Snuggling in the warmth he had left behind. "Moira, look, I know you are pissed at me and hurt and upset but–"

"Go, will you? I need this, John, okay? I don't want to be with you right now!" S he softened her tone seeing his genuine consternation. "We'll see how it goes, okay, sweetie? Just go, please."

"Okay, Moira. Tonight. Only tonight." He grudgingly walked to his room. Got into his bed. Annoyed. Knowing he was being punished. Knowing he deserved it. Nonetheless it irritated him. Rattled him. He stared at the ceiling, arms folded under his pillow. "Moira!"

"Go to sleep, John!" she called, irritated, but also touched by his very real disappointment. She snuggled under the blankets, seeking traces of his warmth, his scent. Wanting him, but knowing she needed this separation to handle all the conflicting emotions.

"Moira," he called again, "it's really cold in here."

"Get another blanket then," she retorted.

"Moira, this mattress is too hard and my back hurts," he tried.

She smiled. "Then add some pillows, John, or sleep on your stomach."

"You could give me a massage. Strictly platonic, of course," he suggested.

"I don't think so. Get a hot water bottle if you are feeling that bad."

He smiled. Considered. "Moira, I might start having serious abandonment issues."

She replied, "Hilarious, John. One night won't kill you! Go to sleep!"

"Can't. Hey, will you drone on and on in Latin? That usually does it."

She snorted a laugh. "Shut up, John! Or I will."

"Crap. Okay, Moira. Shutting up now. Goodnight, Moira."

"Goodnight, John!"

* * *

Moira stood in the 'Gate room with her team. Pack slung over her shoulder, ponytail in place. She shrugged, wondering at the delay. Teyla and Ronon were quietly talking. Evan and Aaron Josephes were doing the same. She moved to her team leader. "Evan, where is Thomas?" she asked, not seeing the long-haired physicist who always accompanied their team.

"He's not invited, per your husband's orders," Evan noted with a shrug. He did not seem too upset by it. He glanced at Aaron. The two men exchanged a smile. Sharing the relief.

"It's not funny, Aaron," she scolded. "Of course we will need his expertise. John," she turned, as he joined them, P90 in hand, "where is Thomas?"

"Who?"

"Kavanaugh! He is a member of Major Lorne's team and should be–"

"Ah. No. Three scientists are more than enough for me on any mission. Almost too many." He glanced up at the control room. "Dial it up, lieutenant! Carson, let's get a move on!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" the doctor hastened to them, medical kit slung over his shoulder. He smiled at Moira. "I had to be certain I have enough–"

"I've had enough," John noted, eyes on Moira as the wormhole engaged. "I couldn't sleep a wink on that hard mattress," he complained quietly.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. That sound I kept hearing was just what then? A foghorn?"

He smirked, but grew serious. "DHD?"

"Fully operational, sir," Evan reported as he checked a readout. "Looks dusty but it works."

"The whole planet appears dusty," Rodney noted. Sniffed.

"This is a world I have never visited," Teyla stated. "There appear to be no settlements."

"At least not any more, perhaps," Ronon gravely suggested.

"All right. Cut the chit-chat. Let's head out!" John ordered.

The planet was quiet. Gray. A leaden sky felt heavy, oppressive. Clouds looming as if they would crash down, but they carried no promise of rain. The air was still. The land was dusty, rocky. A straggling tree line loomed in the distance. Thorns lined the meager bushes. There were no buildings in view. The Stargate looked disused. Dead vines were clinging to it and to the DHD. The teams looked round and the Stargate disengaged.

"Hold up. Rodney?"

"Nothing," Rodney answered to John's question. "Not a single blip on any scan. If I didn't know any better I'd say this was a dead world."

"It's too quiet," Aaron noted. The young man looked round nervously. Not even a breeze stirred the dead grass. The scrawny bushes.

"Yes," Moira agreed. Looking round. There had been animals on the footage taken by Jason and his team on their quick recon, but there was nothing in view now. Not even a bird song or an insect's buzz was to be heard in the relentless silence.

"Heads up, people. Lorne, Josephes, Ronon, keep on the 'Gate. Maintain radio silence. Our intel spotted one human, so keep sharp. There could be more. Any contact at all and you will radio me. Do not engage. The rest with me. Teyla, take point." He waited as the two groups dispersed. Saw Moira lingering near Evan, fiddling with her pack. "Sheppard, that means you as well! Let's go." He was trying not to smile.

Moira shrugged at Evan, moved towards John. "It's O'Meara on missions, colonel," she icily corrected. Stepped past him.

"Like hell it is," he muttered, following her. "How far?"

"Two klicks. I don't see why we couldn't take a Jumper," Rodney grumbled, eyes on his scanner.

"We won't be here long enough," John answered.

"Besides, it's a lovely day for a walk," Carson jested.


	8. Chapter 8

Hibernation8

John stared at the dilapidated buildings. Dead vines clung stubbornly to the iron spires. Broken masonry proliferated. A chill wind whispered through the ruins. Chasing wisps of misty as they team halted. He stepped next to Moira, gestured with his gun. "There. Through there. Nice and slow now. Life signs?"

"Negative. No energy either." Rodney shook his head. "It's almost a dead world."

"Almost." Teyla tilted her head. Assessing. "I do not sense any Wraith."

"Well, that's a good thing. Let's go, shall we?" Carson began to lead the way into the facility.

"Whoa there, doc. I'll take point. Moira, stay behind me." John led the way. He shone his light across the deserted room. Organic substances clung to the walls. Down a flight of uneven stairs.

The passageways were narrow, tilted at odd angles. The ground was uneven. John paused, shining his light down tunnels that vectored off the main one. They were even narrower. Some stopped in dead ends. He continued. Boots scuffing the ground. It felt odd to him. Almost spongy but it was dry. He halted suddenly. Something had been nagging at the back of his mind. Until the thought surfaced. "This looks like a Wraith ship. Sort of. Well, maybe not a ship but it is definitely...Wraithy."

"Wraithy?" Moira questioned behind him, a smile forming.

"Maybe they felt the need to decorate. Hey, why are all these labs and facilities and other stuff always underground? Did I ever mention how much I hate being underground?" Rodney complained, following Moira.

"Yes, several times, in fact," Teyla noted, causing Carson to snort with amusement.

"Then why do I keep ending up underground? For once can't we have a nice, clean, aboveground laboratory with a pleasant view and airy windows and whoa...faint, I mean very faint energy signature. To the right. Down the creepy passageway." Rodney pointed. Waited.

John nodded. Led the way. His boots were crunching on something and he looked down. Shone his light on hundreds of carcasses of beetles. "Yuck."

"What? What is...oh gross! That is just gross!" Rodney complained.

"There are hundreds of them!" Moira exclaimed, trying to step around them but found it all but impossible.

John smirked, seeing her nimble steps. To no avail. "Good thing you didn't wear your dancing shoes," he jested. Looked from her scowl to canvas the room. "There's not much here."

"The box." Carson was already moving towards the rectangular object on the floor. It appeared broken, battered. Wires protruded.

"What box? Oh...the box," Teyla agreed, moving towards it with the doctor.

"There's a box? Oh, oh, hey, that's the one the Wraith took from the Hoffans," John recognized. "Anything?"

"No. Empty. Inert." Carson peered inside, shrugged.

"And the energy signature is this way, not that way." Rodney pointed again. Waited.

"These bugs appear dessicate. Totally drained of all fluids," Moira noted as she squatted, examining the little bodies.

"What does that mean, exactly?" John asked, moving to stand next to her.

"I have no idea. Carson?"

"Snacks?"

"Yes, yes, I could use a bite of oh. You meant the bugs? For who? For what?" Rodney realized, making a face.

"Renfield. Let's go." John pulled Moira to her feet, led her across the chamber. Into a larger one. "Crap." He hefted his gun, shone the light around. "I thought you said you didn't sense any Wraith, Teyla. Better check that Spidey sense of yours."

"Colonel? I do not understand your comment. I do not sense the..."

Teyla's words faded into the silence. The room was lined with chambers. Chambers full of Wraith. Some were mere skeletal remains. Others retained flesh. Still others appeared to be merely asleep. A faint hum was discernible. Equipment running. As John's light swept along the far wall there was a more disconcerting sight. Chains lined the walls. With skeletons still caught in them. Human skeletons.

"More snacks," John grimly noted. "Doc?"

Carson moved to one of the chambers. Squatted to check the faint panel. "It's barely sustaining this one. Which is odd. They're in hibernation, colonel. That's why Teyla couldn't sense them, and why the life signs detector couldn't either. But this is odd."

"Yeah, I agree. A room full of hibernating Wraith is very odd."

"No, that's not what I meant, John. They can hibernate naturally. Why use stasis pods?"

"They...they're all drones. Look at them! All of them." Moira moved along the wall, examining each pod with her flashlight. The bodies that had flesh were heavily muscled. Most still retained the odd face masks worn by the drone Wraith. A few were askew and revealed horribly distorted, distended features. Blank gazes. Overly large teeth. "Where are the others? The more human ones? I wonder if they all appear this deformed, or if something was done to them."

"At least we know why they were those masks," John noted, catching her arm to draw her away from the pods.

"I'm fine, John!" she flared softly, pulled free to move towards Carson. "Is it possible they were spawned here?"

"Unlikely. There would be more protection because a queen would be in attendance," Teyla noted, moving along the opposite wall. "All are drones here as well."

"It's a drone factory, then?" Rodney asked, stepping round a smashed piece of equipment whose function he could only guess at. "That's just...odd."

"An apparently abandoned one, which is stranger still," Teyla remarked.

"Carson, look at this!" Moira had moved past John to another pod. "There's a liquid being fed into the arm. Here too!"

"Help me get a sample, love."

"Be careful, doc. Whatever you do don't awaken them," John cautioned. He crossed to where the human remains were chained. "There are IV lines here too. Rodney, any more energy readings? Rodney!"

Rodney was staring at the pods of Wraith. "What? Oh. No. Just here...nearly depleted source, whatever it is. And no, not a ZPM. There's nothing here of Ancient design." He stepped around a large pile of dead bugs. "And they were better housekeepers," he muttered.

"Why would the Wraith be hibernating here? In such an undefended location?" Teyla wondered, moving along to examine the pods. "They would never place themselves at risk on a planet like this. Some have already died."

"Maybe they didn't have a choice. More experimentation," John suggested, completing his circuit to stand close to Moira again. "The question is, by whom?"

"Good Lord," Carson whispered, as he analyzed the fluid in his medical kit. "Initial results show this to be some sort of variation of the Hoffan serum."

"The what? But doesn't that kill them?" Rodney asked, joining them.

"Aye, it does, but it's been modified here to..." He met Moira's gaze. "Hibernation."

"Storing metabolism?"

"Gluconeogenesis?"

"With euthermic arousals to–"

"Or even an HIT factor to–"

"Whoa, whoa, you know I hate that shorthand!" John complained. He looked from one to the other. "Explain, in detail, please. Hibernation?"

Carson was shaking his head. "As you know, colonel, hibernation is a state of inactivity and metabolic depression characterized by lower body temperature, slower breathing and a lower metabolic rate. Energy reserves are depleted at a much slower rate."

"Okay, we all know that, but what was that other thing? Gluco-something?"

"Gluconeogenesis," Carson supplied. "It's how hibernating animals get their energy. A biochemical process. A metabolic pathway that generates glucose from non-carbohydrate carbon substrates such as lactate, glycerol and glucogenic amino acids. To keep the animal alive during its deep hibernation."

"And the other? The Eurythmics? I remember them. _Sweet dreams are made of these..._" He waited, eyes on Moira. "Come on! You remember that?"

"_Who am I to disagree?" _she quoted with a smile, a shake of her head.

"_I travel the world and the seven seas,"_ Rodney chimed in with a smile.

"_Everybody's looking for something,"_ Carson supplied the last phrase.

They looked at each other, began in unison, "_Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to be used by you. Some of them want to abuse you. Some of them want to be abused."_

They laughed for a moment.

Teyla shook her head. "Sometimes you people from Earth are very, very strange."

"That we are," John agreed. "So, where was I? Arousal?" he asked, raising a brow.

Moira sighed. "Euthermic arousal, colonel. Hibernation can be interrupted by sporadic euthermic arousals where in the body temperature is restored to typical levels. Sort of a safety valve, if you will. Sometimes even the animal will briefly awaken before falling back into a hibernation state. As Carson said the gluco–"

"Okay, okay, got it," John surrendered.

"You had to ask," Rodney reminded.

John glanced at him. "That's hilarious coming from you. So," he turned back to Carson and Moira, "significance?"

Carson and Moira eyed each other. "HIT. Has to be."

"For both the Wraith and the prey. Of course! But how?"

"More importantly why? When they can process it naturally?"

"But they are using suspended animation as well?"

"Significance!" John barked. Sighed. "What is HIT?"

"HIT. Hibernation inductor trigger, or hibernation inducement trigger. A substance in the blood of hibernation animals." Carson snapped his fingers, startling Rodney as that was his thing. "Of course! The Hoffan serum, modified, could be an starting point!"

"A starting point for what?" John asked.

"To modify their own hibernation, or to induce hibernation of some sort in their, um, prey," Moira explained, glancing around at the many pods. The chained skeletons. "For an extended period of time. As if, as if they were going on a long journey."

"A long..." John considered. Looked round, grip tightening on the gun. "Or altering their chemistry to be more conducive to certain genes? Proteins?"

"Aye, that could be an affect as well, John." Carson nodded. "I'll need to get some samples to be absolutely sure, though. Moira, help me with this."

"Whoa, whoa! You'll wake them up, Carson!" Rodney objected.

"This one is quite dead, I assure you, Rodney. In fact I'd say they were all going to die. They've been here for who knows how long? Given their natural longevity it could have been thousands of years!"

"The perfect test subjects," Moira noted softly.

"They are all going to die, Carson, have no doubt of that," John assured grimly. "Be quick about it. I don't want any unexpected guests arriving. Moira."

"I'm fine, John." She moved with Carson to another pod. A corpse lay there. Grimacing with sharp, pointed teeth. Glazed eyes staring at nothing. "Rodney, is there any power here?"

He joined her. Scanned the pod. "No. This one is completely depleted."

"Let's do a quick recon. Doctors, work quickly," John decided.

"Aye, colonel. I wasn't about to dally. Moira, the syringe."

"John! Come look at this!" Rodney called, gesturing wildly.

John reluctantly left Moira's side to join the scientist across the room. "What? Whoa." He stared down at a corpse of a female Wraith. Impaled savagely by a Wraith stunner. Long red hair tangled with dead vines and weeds. Clothing all but disintegrated. Skin shrunken over the elongated features. "A keeper. Has to be."

"It appears to have been dead for a very long time," Teyla noted, joining them. "Perhaps there was some disagreement over these...experiments."

"Or someone took over," John said. He glanced round again. Suspicious.

"Not that! Ick! That!" Rodney pointed past the corpse to the dimly flickering equipment. "That is the energy source! It's nearly inert. So you know what I'm thinking."

John and Teyla exchanged a look. "No, actually. Rodney, what are you thinking?"

Rodney sighed. "Isn't it obvious? This power source is independent of a ZPM. This power source is something we haven't encountered before, something unique to this galaxy. Possibly even unique to the Wraith!"

* * *

Carson shut the stasis pod. Shook his head. "There's barely enough here for a full analysis. They've been drained dry."

"Like the insects." Moira glanced to where the little corpses littered the floor. Frowned. "Carson...what could be feeding on the life fluids of both creatures? Of any creature? Or, or gathering the fluids for experimentation?"

"I have no idea, love, but I don't want to run into it." Carson moved along the pods. Flinched. "I thought...no, I'm sure they're all dead, or in such deep hibernation that they may never truly awaken. What could have happened here? And why?"

"You're sure?" Moira asked, pausing by another pod to peer at the occupant. The gruesome smile. The malformed face, scarred. One eye bulging. Bald head instead of the long hair of the more evolved, advanced Wraith. Long teeth. She felt a shiver, glanced across the room to where John was standing. Gun in hand as he watched Rodney wrestle a piece of equipment from a broken console.

Carson stepped around the box. To another pod. "Moira. Come look at this."

Moira moved to him. Wincing at the sound of beetles being crushed under her shoes. "What is it, Carson?"

"Not all of the occupants are drones, or even Wraith for that matter."

"What?" Moira neared the pod. Stared. "John. John!" she called.


	9. Chapter 9

Hibernation9

John rushed to Moira's side, swerving past broken consoles. "Moira!"

"Look! Look!" She was pointing at a pod.

John stood right behind her. Peered into the pod to see a human. He looked to be in perfect health. Pale, but a rosy hue colored his cheeks. His clothes were tattered. His bald head gleamed. "I don't believe this. How many of these guys are there?"

"You know him?" Carson asked, puzzled.

"In a manner of speaking. We met him, or rather another one exactly like him leading a pack of mutated cavemen. Is he hibernating too?" John got his answer when the man's eyes opened.

Moira gasped, stumbling back from the pod. Right into John. "He's like a vampire...do you think he's been feeding on the–"

The pod began to open. "Crap!" John pulled Moira back behind him, stepping away. Gun raised as Carson retreated in surprise. "Guess we'll find out. Why is it always a horror movie with you?" he quipped, glancing to see that Moira was behind him, out of reach of the pod.

She shrugged. "You said Renfield, not me."

"Could that be the result of this, this HIT thing you mentioned?" John asked, gun trained on the still inert form of the bald man.

"Not possible, colonel. Humans cannot hibernate," Carson rejected. "Although there has been some experimentation with HIT involving human transplanted organs and other–"

"Not now, doc!" John snapped as the man sat straight up in the pod. Reminding John exactly of a vampire from a horror film. He expected the bald man to display fangs. It wouldn't have surprised him, but instead the man just sat, staring at nothing. "Now what?"

Power flared suddenly. The pods lit one by one, including the one containing the bald man. John whirled, pulling Moira away from the pods. "Rodney!"

"It just came on!" Rodney shouted, as Teyla pulled him away from the device. "It was drained, I swear! It...wow, we've got a significant power surge all over the board! From below us!"

"Why is the floor moving?" Teyla asked.

"Colonel Shepard, Colonel Sheppard, we have 'Gate activity!" Evan's voice crackled over the radio.

"Crap. This isn't a facility! It's a ship, and something has activated it! Let's go!" John herded the group towards the outer chamber. "Lorne, hold position! Do not engage! Ronon, track to our position! Move, move!" The ground was rumbling underfoot now. The sound vibrating, becoming audible. John caught hold of Moira's arm, guiding her.

But she whirled, stumbling. "John! Look! Look!"

He turned to see the pods opening one by one. Lights flashing. But nothing moved. Nothing stirred. Except the bald man who lethargically crawled out of the pod. "Shit. Let's go! Move, move, we need to move now!"

"No! We need to talk to him! Find out what he is! John, we have to–" She tried to pull free of him but John kept a firm hold on her arm.

"We don't have time, Moira! Let's go, now!"

"No! We need the intel!" she argued, pulling free but John slid his arm around her waist. Almost hauled her off her feet, spun and shoved her ahead of him. "John!"

"Move! Move that pert little ass now!" he bellowed.

The team ran up the passageways which were now buckling. Sharp inclines were developing. The walls were shaking now. Dead vines falling, as if trying to trip them. Ran towards the opening. "We're rising! We're rising!" Rodney shouted, was pushed out the door by Teyla who followed. Carson leapt after them.

Moira hesitated as the ship was breaking loose of the ground. Dirt was flying. Rocks were scattering. They were moving higher, higher. She balanced precariously on the edge. "John!"

"Go! Go!" He pushed her, followed after. They fell hard to the ground, rolling. John lunged on top of her as dirt and rocks flew all around them. He looked up to see the ship emerging from the ground. Dead vegetation was falling. The ship turned ponderously, as if shaking off a long sleep. Then flew slowly. But turned. A culling beam shot out. "Son of a bitch! Move, move!" John shouted, scrambling to his feet. He pulled Moira to hers and they ran for the cover of the straggling trees.

Rodney dove with Teyla as the beam nearly caught them. The light slicing the ground in a sweep for any living thing. Carson dove the other way, clutching his medical kit for dear life.

"Down!" John shoved Moira into the trees, fell on top of her. Slapped his radio. "Ronon, get down! Lorne, report!"

"No activity, sir...but oh my God! Sir! There's a ship approaching the–"

"I know! Get to cover now! Let it go!"

"John!" Moira complained, elbowing him. He moved off her as the beam disappeared. Stood to watch the ship fly over the trees and across the distance. She stood, took his arm. "Where–"

"How the hell should I know? That was too close!" He glared at her. "Don't you ever question my orders! Don't you ever debate any decision I make in the field! Got it?"

She stared, shaken by his fury. "We, we needed him, John! He had valuable information for us about whatever was going on in those pods, on that ship, in the–"

"No! You will never disobey a direct order on a mission, Moira, do you hear me? Never! When I say go you go. When I say move you move. Got it?"

She frowned. "Yes, sir,"she said icily. "Damn it, John, it wasn't like I was instigating a mutiny!"

"No. You disobeyed a direct order and argued with me, costing us precious time! We are lucky we made it out of there with our lives, damn it! You and your fucking science almost cost me my team! Almost cost me my wife!"

"What? You're exaggerating!" she flared. "We needed him, John! God knows what the Wraith are doing with the Hoffan serum and the hibernation inducing triggers! Maybe it's not the Wraith at all! Maybe it was Baldy! What if it was Baldy and his, his clones or whatever all along? What are they doing, John? What is the connection between this and the ATA Wraith in that other reality? Between those countless drones and the proto-Wraith? Something is going on here, John, something we just can't see! Something connecting all of this, all the biochemical and evolutionary experimentation and if we don't figure it out we could be dooming Atlantis not to mention the galaxy to God knows what kind of horror! What then?"

John was staring at her, the rush of words slapping against him. His anger momentarily calmed by the sheer verbosity of the woman in front of him. Ponytail being whipped back and forth by the wind. Dirt and grim on her cheek, on her clothes. Anger in her brown eyes. "Hey, you're the connect the dots person, remember? I'm the complete the maze for the prize person." Before she could reply he took her arm. Led her out of the trees. "Rodney! Carson! Teyla!" He relaxed as each joined him. Battered and dirty but alive. "Let's go. We can meet up with Ronon and then go home. There's nothing else here."

"Don't look at me! I didn't activate it!" Rodney flared before anyone could accuse him.

"If not you then who?" Teyla asked, shaking her head.

"Oh, I'm thinking that." John pointed. The ship was heading towards the Stargate. Clumps of rocks and dirt still falling from it. It was an ugly sight. A strange amalgamation of a Wraith hive ship and other components that John could not identify. He tapped his radio. "Major, status?"

"Sir, the ship...the ship is nearly over the 'Gate now. It's...it's ejecting something...a pod..." Evan watched in wonder as the cylindrical sphere shot through the wormhole. "It's gone through! The ship is accelerating into atmosphere now."

"Get that address!" John turned as Ronon joined them. Shaking his head. "What is it?"

"Wraith. Bodies. Bodies of drones being littered across the land like so much debris. Garbage. Which they are. From the ship."

"What? Why?" Carson wondered.

"It's lightening the load. Ejecting all unnecessary weight. The power levels must be exceedingly low," Rodney reasoned.

"Or it needs excessive power for where it's going," John suggested. Brows furrowed in thought until Moira elbowed him. Freeing herself from his grasp. "What?"

"Sounds like we can get our samples now, colonel. Oh, unless you have an order to completely ignore any kind of scientific advancement or discovery?" she snapped.

"Moira," he said, frowning at her sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, colonel, it's O'Meara on missions." She turned to Carson. "Do you think any of those drones will have enough fluid for viable–"

"Sheppard," John said tersely, "you and Beckett can gather samples on the way. Ronon, take point. But we are not dallying for any scientific discovery. Got it? Let's head out! Rodney, can you get any readings on that ship?" Before Rodney could reply John had tapped his radio. "Lorne, did you get the address?"

"Yes, sir, Josephes got it...sir, it's odd. It has seven chevrons."

"What?" Rodney exclaimed, tapping his own radio. "Are you sure about that, major?"

"Yes, McKay." Evan sounded resigned as the scientist began to harangue him.

"Are you sure sure? That's not possible for a 'Gate address in this galaxy! You must have transposed a symbol or copied the same chevron twice! I'm on my way. That ship is gone," he answered before John could ask. "It went to a hyperspace window. No way to track it."

"Track it anyway. See if you can isolate a unique energy signature or any kind of pattern. Let's go! We're not spending all day here!"

* * *

Moira squatted, leaned, trying to procure a sample from the arm of a drone Wraith. The flesh was like paper. So dry and devoid of any liquid it was practically falling apart in front of her eyes. She sighed. "This one is too dry also." She stiffened. A shadow was thrown across her. A long, lean shadow she knew only too well. She could feel John's eyes boring in on her rear. Frowned at his overzealous protection. She looked over her shoulder, up at his towering frame. "Damn it, John, would you stop hovering! I can't get any work done with you constantly crowding me!"

"Tough. Deal with it, Moira." He smirked, enjoying irritating her. "You know it's my job to guard that pert little ass."

"Shut up!"

"And as I recall," he added, squatting next to her, bumping his thigh into hers, "you quite enjoy when I crowd you. When I am pressed so fucking close to you and we are joined by all that sweat and sweet, sweet–"

"John!" She scrambled to her feet, glaring at him. "Stop it!"

"No," he said mildly. A smile curving his lips.

"Fuck you," she muttered, moving to yet another corpse.

"Oh really, baby?" he taunted, following. "I wish you would. You are not pulling that crap tonight, Moira. I am sleeping in our bed."

"Fine. I'll sleep in yours."

"No, you won't."

"Fine. I'll sleep on the floor."

"No...we'll be doing something else on the floor."

"No, we won't," she countered. She whirled, shoving him so hard he almost lost his balance. "Will you just fucking back off?"

"No," he said mildly to her fury. Smiled.

She raised her hand, about to slap the smugness off his handsome face. Hesitated. He raised a brow, said nothing, but his expression dared her. Wanted her. He slowly licked his lips. Moira scowled, but felt herself responding. Wanting him. She lowered her hand. "I hate you," she muttered, trying to move by him.

He blocked her. "Back at you, baby. Repeatedly."

"John..." She moved past him, headed for Carson. "Anything?"

"Very little, I'm afraid," Carson informed, standing. "I think this is the best we can do, colonel."

John had followed Moira, was standing behind her. "Okay. Let's go. You can analyze to your heart's content in Atlantis. Repeatedly," he said into her ear, turned before she could respond. "Let's head out!"


	10. Chapter 10

Hibernation10

Moira sighed. Arched her back, stretching her arms behind her, then over her head. Thrusting her breasts out towards the table as she moaned loudly. Shifted on the chair, lifting her rear just slightly. She relaxed, arms lowered. Looked across her room to see John standing near the bed. Staring.

"Hilarious, Moira," he scolded sourly.

She smirked. "What? I've been at it for hours now, John."

"You will be, baby. So?"

She shrugged. Closed the data pad as it sat on the table. "I have no idea."

He smirked. "You wasted how many hours, then?"

"Hilarious, John." She freed her hair. Ran her hands through the wavy brown tresses. She stood. Turned to face him. "John?"

He was studying her. Arms at his sides. "I'm not sure whether you are coming onto me or merely luring me to get close so you can hit me. Care to enlighten me?"

"No." She eyed him. Expression serious. She glanced at the table. The roses. The fudge. Back to John as he stood, waiting. She stepped to him. Touched his arm. Ran her fingers up and down silently. A welter of emotions rising and falling as she stared at his chest. "John."

"Don't say another word, Moira." He lifted her face to his. Kissed her gently. Lips stroking hers. Subtly opening them but his tongue remained aloof. One hand traveled gently up her back to tangle in her hair.

Moira leaned into the kiss. Her body just brushing his. But she drew back, uncertain. "John? I...I...oh shit, John, we've been through so much lately and I don't know I don't–"

He kissed her again. A longer, deeper kiss. Drawing her mouth into his, her body against his. He freed her. "Whatever you decide, sweetheart. Whatever you wish." He sauntered to the bed. Began to quietly undress. His back to her as he pulled off his shirt. Removed his pants. Shoes. Socks. Left his shorts and moved towards her, then veered around her. "I want a piece...of fudge," he finished with a smirk. Sat on the chair.

Moira was staring. Uncertain. Debating this way and that. She removed her shirt. Her pants. Shoes. Left the socks. She moved to him. Touched his shoulder. She slid onto his lap suddenly, straddling him as she faced him. "So do I. Want a piece. Of fudge." She reached back and grabbed two pieces. "Here, sweetie." She fed him one. Ate hers.

John was smiling, still not sure of her mood, her intentions. Gaze devouring her naked skin. The green bra and panties. Her swirling hair. The weight of her on his lap as she gyrated slightly to get comfortable. "Hmm...pretty good," he commented, eating the fudge. Watching as she chewed, sucked. Swallowed. Closed her eyes, rocking slightly on him.

"Good? This is exquisite! Oh God, it's so good! So good! Oh, oh, oh," she moaned, teasing him. "Oh caramel!" She opened her eyes to see his smirk.

"Wow, Moira, is it the caramel fudge or is it me that's turning you on? Because, baby, you are definitely turned on," he teased, feeling her arousal through her panties. He caressed her bare thighs as his arousal stirred under her. Responding. Reacting.

"Wouldn't you like to know, sweetie?" she teased. Reaching back for more.

"As a matter of fact I would," he rejoined. "Lift." She hesitated, did so. He smiled. Touched her hips. Slid her panties down, down, smiling. "Oh baby, so fucking sweet."

"Wait! Don't rip them!" He chuckled as she scrambled off him, wiggled out of them. John swiftly lifted to remove his shorts, anticipation building. He moaned as she suddenly straddled him, trapping his growing erection under her. Wetness caressing him. She reached back and fed him another piece of fudge. "Now savor it, sweetie."

"Oh, I intend to, baby, don't you worry." He chewed, swallowed. "Let me." He took a piece fed it to her as she moved deliciously upon him.

"I'm talking about the fudge, sweetie," she chastised. "Hmm...so good, so good."

"So am I, baby." He kissed her, hands sliding up to her bra. "Fudge, fudge, fudge," he teased, undoing the garment to remove it. To caress her breasts.

She laughed softly, shifting. "Oh John, John Sheppard, is that a gun in your lap or are you just happy to see me?"

He smiled. "That's all me, baby. Very happy. Oh Moira, Moira Sheppard, fudge me, baby."

"Not yet." She kissed him. Circled his ear as he ran his mouth along her throat She murmured. Provocatively leaned back to grab more fudge. John took the opportunity to kiss her breasts, to suck a hardening nipple until she straightened. "No."

"Ah, baby, please," he pouted.

She smiled. "First." She fed him a piece of fudge. "Second." She gave him one to feed her. He slid it into her mouth. Moira moaned in enjoyment, also keeping his finger in her mouth. Sucking both. Swirling her tongue. Swallowing the fudge. Sucking on his finger.

"Ah baby, fudge, what's third?" he asked in delight, becoming hard beneath her. He wondered if he could ever get her to suck, to swirl his cock as hard as she was doing it to his finger. Groaned at the thought. He discovered the third when she lifted. He sprang up to meet her, fully erect now. Eager. S he took him inside her slowly, clenching as she slid down the hard length of him. He groaned loudly, jerking inside her. Moira moaned as he suddenly thrust. A burst of pleasure startling her. Bit without realizing.

"Ow!" John's complaint made her stop moving. She opened her mouth. He pulled out his finger. Stared at it. "Damn, baby, that really hurt."

Moira smiled. "Did it hurt enough, sweetie? I thought you wanted me to bite. Hard. Don't all your fucking lots some women bite hard? Enough of them seem to enjoy sucking your cock," she noted bitterly. Before he could reply she kissed him. Hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders. She nibbled his throat. Began moving up and down, up and down. Whimpering to tease him, arouse him. Moving harder, faster now in a sensual gyration. Clasping his shoulders as she rocked on him.

John groaned as the pleasure mounted, mounted. "Yeah, they do enjoy it, baby, but I only want your mouth on my cock," he retorted. He glanced at his finger. "Shit, Moira, it still stings." The skin was broken. A bite mark was forming. Blood welled. But the pleasure was becoming sharper, sweeter. He grabbed her hips as she rocked, rocked. "Ah fuck, fuck! I mean fudge, fudge!" he corrected.

"I'm just going to use you, John, use you as a fuck buddy from now on," she taunted, knowing he hated that term. "I call this Sheppard's delight." She shifted, kissed him deeply before he could respond. Thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Teasing, swirling as she moved faster, faster. Leaning forward a bit. Her breasts scraping against his chest hair. She rode him hard. Harder, keeping her thighs close, clenching tightly on him. As if she wanted to hurt him. Keep him from coming. Messily she gyrated. All but devoured his lips, sucking and nibbling. Biting.

John was in ecstasy. Knowing full well what she was doing but he didn't care. All the thrusting, swirling, sucking making him painfully eager. Unable to release as she trapped him. Kept him in a straight, confined rhythm that nevertheless gave him spasms of sexual gratification. He groaned, groaned, straining. Hips thrusting up as he was coming despite her efforts. He grabbed her rear to shove, shove her harder. Harder still. Broke his mouth from hers. "Wider! Wider, damn it! Fuck, fuck, fudge!"

Moira was moaning, whimpering. Arching now, leaning back. Arms outstretched as she clutched his shoulders. Taking all of him. Bouncing her rear on his thighs, on his balls. Up and down, up and down. She hit the table's edge but didn't care. "Fudge me, John, fudge me, fudge me oh John, oh John!" she breathed hotly. Clenching and releasing as he surged upwards, inwards.

"Fuck! I mean fudge, fudge, fudge oh God that's so tight! Moira, so fucking tight!" he growled, shudders caressing his body as he fought to release. Straining against her sweetly agonizing trap.

Moira shifted as the pleasure began to throb, to escalate. But she stopped suddenly. Lifted and gyrated to free herself. She sat on him and he groaned in pain. "John? Did I do that?" She grabbed his hand to stare at his finger. The bite mark, red and bleeding slightly. "Oh shit!"

"Doesn't matter, baby. We need to come now! This is Sheppard's delight part two. Hang on!"

He kissed her. Tongue sliding into her mouth. Strangling her gasp as he grabbed her rear. Lifted her up, onto the table as he stood.

"The fudge?" she warned, breathless, but he laughed.

"Fudge, indeed, baby." He shoved the food and the data pad aside. Shoved the roses out of the way. Vases fell. Roses spilled around her, under her. On her. He pushed her onto her back. Shoved her thighs wide apart. Pinned her arms and thrust into her. Moira writhed, moaning as he growled in relief. Thrusting hard, deep. Establishing a teasing, steady rhythm. He kissed her. His tongue mimicking his cock.

The table was shaking. Roses were falling. Moira struggled to free her arms but John held her in place. Freed her mouth to nibble along her throat. To gently bite her earlobe. All the while thrusting, assuaging his own need. And hers. Grunting to annoy her. Arouse her. Take her.

Moira was drowning in a flood of passion, sex. The pleasure pulsing, growing. John was relentless, possessive. All over her as his mouth almost savagely, sloppily moved to her breasts. She arched, helpless, trying to keep her sounds soft but it only seemed to give him more impetus. Every motion of his cock stroking, cajoling her into throbbing pleasure. Every motion of his mouth teasing, taking but stopping before she felt any real pain. She couldn't free her arms, but flung her legs up, around his hips, his rear, giving him complete control, complete access to whatever he desired, whatever he needed. "John! Oh John, oh God, oh God, oh John!" The words were torn from her lips.

"Fuck! Don't you ever leave us unsatisfied, baby!" he snapped, voice low, husky. "Oh fudge this is going to be explosive!"

"John! Oh John, oh John, oh John!" she begged, pleaded, demanded until her voice devolved into inarticulate whimpers and moans. Tears blurred her vision as orgasms burst in her, on her. She arched, arched, writhing so wildly she was afraid she would fall off the table. The sheer, excruciating pleasure made her cry out loudly. Arms breaking free of his hands to grab, to claw at him. She sat up, nails clawing his back, then fell onto her back again in a breathless moan.

John groaned, groaned, arching into her. Coming wildly, spasms rocking him as they rocked the table. A shiver of pure lust slid along his skin. Then release as he ejaculated, kept thrusting, hard, fast until he leaned heavily on her, utterly drained. He kissed her repeatedly. "Fuck! Oh fuck I can't even feel my cock now!" he muttered happily, face in her hair as he breathed heavily. Could feel the sweat trickling on their bodies. Could feel her muscles relaxing at last around him. A few last jerking thrusts as she took all of him, all of his need, his lust. "Moira," he growled. Lifted to kiss her passionately as her legs relaxed, freed him.

Moira was gasping, grasp gentling on him as her legs dangled on either side of him once more. She was breathing heavily. Brown eyes wide with wonder, satisfaction. "John? My God..."

"Yeah. Hang on a sec." He moaned, slid out of her at last, for a moment thinking he wasn't going to be able to leave her. He straightened. Staring down at her. "That was Sheppard's delight, baby. Don't you ever forget that." Roses were strewn around her, on her. Blushing pink petals in her hair, on one breast, on her hips. "So fucking, er, fudging beautiful, my Moira." He pulled her abruptly to her feet. Embraced her. Kissed her again. Hand sliding round to her cup her rear. "How's that pert little ass, baby? Hmm?" He gently squeezed.

She squirmed, but clung to him. Overcome, almost dizzy with the rush of sexual pleasure, passion. Possession. "John! Oh John...you, you..." she breathlessly muttered against his chest. Pushed out of his arms to stare at him. But he swung her off her feet, into his arms. "John!"

He laughed at her expression. "Bed." He carried her to the bed. Practically threw her onto it.

She laughed as she bounced, scrambled not to fall off it. She scooted up to the pillows, on her stomach. "John! Oh John...you...you fudged me to, to death!"

He laughed, sprawled next to her. "Ah baby, I fudged you, you fudged me. So intensely I think we've set a new record for escalation. Damn!" His voice rang with replete pride. "I love fudge, Moira. I really do." She snorted a laugh. "I'm serious, baby. Fudge." He rolled onto his side. Sat, eyes on the slope of her lower back, the spill of her messy hair. Her naked rear. He laughed again.

"What?"

"You've got rose petals plastered to your pert little ass, baby. So fucking beautiful, no, no!" He stopped her from moving. "Lift up, just a little baby, just a little, please! Offer that pert little ass to me...oh yeah, yeah, oh baby, that's so damn luscious I have to have a picture."

She laughed, shifting as he ran his hand down her back. Caressing just above her rear to make her murmur. "No fudging way, sweetie."

"Oh please, please, baby! You have no idea how exquisitely beautiful this is...my God, it's perfect."

She laughed. "No, sweetie! It's just an ass! Not a ouch!" she complained as he smacked it.

"Moira!" he scolded. Fingers running delicately over each cheek. Caressing. Groping. "This is not just an ass. This is a work of art. The sweetest, tightest, most pert little ass in two galaxies, I swear!"

"John!" she scolded, laughing. She propped herself up on her elbows, trying not to react, not to shift as his fingers were erotic. She looked over her shoulder at him.

"You know, baby," he persisted, ignoring her glare, "most men would kill to be where I am right now. Hell, most men would have died where I was a few minutes ago. But this...seeing this, touching this, groping this, running their tongues over every inch of the perfection that is your pert little ass," he enthused seriously. She squirmed, stopped. Her body reacting. "You know, baby, the first time you leaned over, way over in those tight khaki pants I thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

Moira laughed. "John! Cut it out! Your strange obsession over my ass is–"

"I would deliberately drop things, knock things over just to make you lean over to pick stuff up, to push out that pert little ass and reveal every curve, every line. I would bump into you not by accident but by design, just to fell those tight curves, those cheeks demanding to be grasped and squeezed and swatted."

She laughed at his extravagant speech. His humorous exaggerations. "John Sheppard! Please! You are–"

He met her gaze, smiled. "Moira, please! Please, please, please let me take a photo of this lovely pert little ass covered by rose petals, please! Covered with roses as pink as your lips, as pink as your nipples, as pink as your sweet, sweet–"

"John!" Moira blushed, shifting but his hand firmly closed on one cheek.

"No! I'll do anything, Moira! Anything you want, just please, please give me this."


	11. Chapter 11

Hibernation11

Moira stared at him. John was pouting. Lower lip out, wet. Puppy dog eyes so sad but sparkling with love, merriment. He was a delicious mess. Hair sticking up at all angles on his head. Faint stubble lining his handsome face, strong jaw. Sweat trickling, tangling on his lean, muscled torso. In his dark chest hair. In the hair along his arms. "John..." she complained.

"Please, please, please, sweetheart! I'll do anything, give you anything, do everything you want just please, please let me have a picture of this!"

She laughed, sighed. Found him irresistible. Oh all right, sweetie!" she grumbled. "But I want a naughty picture of you in return."

"Whatever, sweetheart, thank you!" He leaned close, kissed her. Full of glee, almost giddy he bounced off the bed. "Don't move! Don't move that pert little ass, baby! Shit. Where's the camera?"

She laughed. "Third drawer. Mine. John, I want you in that white shirt, the linen one? And nothing else."

"Okay, give me a sec to find it. Don't move! Don't you move an inch, baby!" She laughed as he sprinted to his room. Admired the flexing of muscles along his thighs, his back, his rear.

Moira sighed fondly. Glanced behind her to see the rose petals sticking to her skin. Shook her head at his insistence, his enthusiasm. She watched him as he returned. The white shirt adorning him, unbuttoned, barely concealing his cock as he grabbed the camera. "John–"

"Don't move! Oh baby, you are so beautiful I ache for you. Hold still." He circled the bed, finding the right angle. "Okay. Wait." He moved to the bed, arranged the petals.

She shifted as his fingers moved along her rear, her lower back. "Only one, sweetie!"

"Whatever, baby. Okay." He stepped back from the bed. "Damn. Fuck that is sweet. Open your legs."

"What? No way, John!"

"Moira, it will be artful. Trust me. Open your legs just a little. Come on, baby, just a glimpse of that sweet, sweet center there oh fuck yes. Little more. A little more. There! Lift up a little, just a little oh God that is absolute perfection! So beautiful, so fudging lovely," he praised, voice lowering as he gazed raptly at her.

Moira flattened, closed her legs. Coloring as her body was reacting to him. "Enough!"

"Okay, baby, thank you."

She rolled onto her side. "John, you, no! You son of a bitch!" She sat, blushed as he lowered the camera with a smile. "Damn it!" She grabbed a blanket to cover herself, glaring at him.

He laughed. Moved to the bed. "Sorry, I couldn't resist...wait! One more, baby, to keep me warm at night when you are not here. Lower the blanket."

"No! I am not making a porno calendar for you!"

"No, we are making artistic, tasteful pictures. Please, baby. You know what I want. One more, Moira. Give it to me. Give me those fucking beautiful tits."

She sighed. "Fine, you pervert! Then it's my turn!" She considered. "Oh. I know what you want, you naughty boy." She mussed her hair, drawing it in front of her. Arranging it as she let the blanket fall to her lap. Licked her lips. Licked her finger, sucking to make it wet. She drew it down to one breast. To one rosy nipple peeking through the curtain of her hair. She circled it, making it wet. Hard. "Okay, sweetie. One shot." She bit her lower lip.

John was staring avidly. A moan escaping his lips. So aroused he nearly dropped the camera. "Fuck, er fudge. Oh! Oh, the camera!" He quickly took the picture. "Baby, you are giving me such a hard-on!"

"My turn!" She scrambled off the bed, wrapping the blanket around her. She grabbed the camera from him. Pushed him. "Get on the bed, flyboy!"

He laughed. "Yes, ma'am! Hell, I'm at half salute anyway," he jested.

She took a picture as he clambered on, his rear peeking out under the shirt as he moved. "That is one fine, fine ass you have there yourself, colonel."

"How do you want me, baby?"

"I wish you'd ask me that more often," she suggested with a smile as he sat, facing her. Draping the shirt over his arousal.

"I will. You'll need a wide angle lens if we don't finish this pretty quick," he teased, making her laugh. "I'm serious, Moira! You will need a wide angle lens for the magnificence that is John Sheppard."

"Or a zoom lens, sweetie?" She laughed at his playful scowl. "Can you guess what I want, John?"

"Besides me? Oh I think I can, baby. Artistic. No full frontal," he warned. He opened the shirt all the way down, but draped it to discreetly cover himself.

"Oh John," she pouted, "at least give me a peek of that ordnance."

"A peek? Fine, baby, but you better hurry before you get a full deployment." He moved the shirt a little. "There?"

"Yes, oh yes, John...do the lip. The lip makes me so hot."

"Yeah, I know that, baby. The weirdest things make you horny." He licked his lips, making his lower lip wet. Pouted. Shifted. Petals were stuck to his bare leg. His thigh. "Well?"

"Sorry, sweetie...you are so fucking beautiful I forgot what I was doing," she said, taking the picture. Her voice serious, soft. Making him smile.

He stared at her. The blanket draped around her, giving him enticing view of her naked body as she moved, changing the angle of the picture. "Enough, baby! This is getting serious now," he warned. "Moira, fudge me."

She laughed. Hastened to the dresser to set the camera down. Returned to the bed and stood looking at him. "Oh John, thank you! You are so gorgeous I want to crawl over every inch of you, sweetie. I want to kiss every inch of you!"

He smiled. Reclined in a sprawl. "Then come here, baby. Fudge me, Moira."

She laughed. "Are you kidding me? After that last exuberance I can barely feel anything!" But she pounced on him, making him groan, laugh. She draped the blanket over them, squirming along his body and kissed him. "John! Oh John, John. Whoa there, soldier!"

He laughed at her expression. "Hell yes, baby, reporting for duty. Here." He gently moved her off him. "I have to have that pert little ass, baby, I do. I want it so bad, so bad, please!" He kissed her, moving her up onto her knees. Moira turned to face the headboard as he moved right behind her. She grasped the piece of furniture. "John, John, I don't think this will hold. Hell, I don't think I can hold another–"

"You'll be fine, baby. Don't you worry." He ran his hands along her body. Kissing her shoulder, her throat. "I want you, Moira. Mine. Completely and utterly mine, to do with as I please. To pleasure you beyond anything we've done so far. To enslave you to my sexual desires."

She shifted, his low voice sexy, teasing her ear. His words erotic. She gulped. "Um, John..." She sighed in surrender as he ran his hands along her body again. Adjusting her stance, her hips. Squeezing her rear. Parting her thighs. He began to kiss her back. Slowly moving down her spine. Down and down.

Moira moaned, tensing, flooding at the dance of his lips across her skin, his fingers along her thighs, her pelvis. She arched as he neared her rear. Hands on her thighs, caressing, playing along her skin. Skimming her mound, her folds as he gently, gently bit. She cried out in a whimper of surprise, of lust. He thrust into her suddenly, groaning in delight, in relief, in hunger as she enfolded him. "John!" she cried, clutching the headboard, tensing.

"Easy, Moira, my Moira," he groaned, abruptly so hard he nearly came. A shudder coursed along him and he slowed a moment. "Fuck...okay, baby...here we go." He slid his hands up to knead, to clasp her breasts. Kissing her shoulder, her throat, nibbling as he began an increasing momentum. Thrusting deep, deep. Faster and faster.

Moira was squirming, moaning in pleasure as she clung to the headboard. John's energetic thrusts nearly lifting her off her knees, nearly shoving her into the wall. "John! Oh John, no, no, no, please, please, oh God, oh God!" she whimpered as one of his hands slid down to her mound. Teasing the cleft, rubbing until his long fingers delved, dove to what he sought.

"A double fudge for my Moira," he said, voice low, grunting with each thrust. "Moira! Fuck, Moira, oh God that is so sweet! Sweet and snug and wet and mine, all mine!"

"John! Oh John, John, how can you be so hard?" she gasped, astounded by his stamina, his lust, his sheer sexual appetite. She cried out repeatedly, soft, straining noises with each of his harder, faster thrusts. Swept away by the sexual intercourse. Her noises rising higher, higher as his fingers delved, probed at the same rhythm as his cock. Pleasuring her all over until she sobbed, melted. The climaxes nearly making her scream.

He groaned, grunting loudly. Her sounds making him hungrier, hungrier. Her tremulous voice and sobs a counterpart to his purely male sounds. Domination. Orgasm straining, straining to fill every inch of her, ply every fold, to keep fucking and fucking her until he burst inside her. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he growled, moaning as the sensations flooded. Shook him. "Moira! Moira, Moira!" he exulted as the orgasm hit. Spasms and shuddering nearly making him fall. But he only pushed harder, faster. Their mutual climaxes entwining, locking them into a frenzy.

"John!" Moira cried, sobbed. "Please, please, John oh John I can't I can't I can't John!" The pleasure was so intense it was verging on pain. He was so big, so long, still so hard, and his fingers were merciless, brutal.

Hearing her distress John slowed, slowed with an effort. He freed her, fingers sliding out of her. He erection was fading fast now, having crested and ridden wildly. Drenched in sweat like she was he breathed deeply of the sex heavy in the air. He pulled out of her, fell onto the bed beside her, collapsing. On his back. He pulled her down onto him. Rolled so she was beneath him. Kissed her repeatedly, mouth now as insistent as his cock had been.

Moira couldn't breathe. Tears blinded her. John's tongue was in her mouth, his kisses long, deep, as if he would devour her. His body heavy on hers. Hot. Sticky. Sweaty. She pushed, pushed. He relented, freeing her mouth but sprawled on top of her, catching his breath. Shifted some of his weight off her but not all. Head on her heaving breasts. Cock pressed to her crotch, refusing to allow her legs to close. "John..." she gasped.

"Not yet. Not yet." His voice was as raw as hers. But while hers held astonishment, even worry,, his held smugness. Satisfaction.

"John!"she complained. Weakly hitting his arm. "What are you trying to do to me? Fuck me to death? Go for twenty?"

He weakly laughed. "No to the first, maybe to the second. Damn!"

"John! John!" Moira didn't know what to say. Words failed her.

He kissed her. Rolled off her at last and wiped his sweaty brow. "Fuck! I mean fudge! Baby, I blame that pert little ass of yours. I can never get enough of it. And table sex...fuck that was hot! My balls ache, Moira," he complained, "and at least it's gone down for awhile. Fudge!"

Moira snuggled, needing comfort. But hit him suddenly. "I hate you, John! I hate you! Why do you do that to me? Why? My God, my God...you were so, so, so...." Words failed again as she blinked back tears.

John sighed. "I know." He slid his arm around her, kissed her brow. "Ssh, Moira. It's all right. We needed it. You. Me. To get past all of this shit, okay? A thorough and complete fucking. It's all right now, sweetheart."

"All right? How can it be all right?" she flared, lifting to glare at him. "You son of a bitch! I bet you do this to all of your lots some–"

"No. Only you get me so fucking hard and so damn horny I think I'll die if I can't have you as hard and deep as I need. So fucking lush," he muttered, drowsiness taking him.

"John!" She hit his arm. "Don't you dare fall asleep! Don't you dare–"

"Can't help it, baby, so hush now. You're in my arms. Safe. Secure. Pleasured beyond your wildest dreams. Sleep. We'll be fine, Moira. No more talk. Fudge. Just fudge..sweet, sweet fudge," he muttered, voice drawling as he fell into a heavy doze. Holding her close.

Moira snuggled, sniffling. Clinging to him as she yanked the blanket over them. "John, John, we can't keep having sex like this! We just can't, okay? Okay?"

His answer was a snort. A snore.

She sighed, upset even as her body exulted in the way he had taken her. The aggressive passion. The double orgasms. The driving need between them. She considered the maelstrom they had been through. All the confessions about their dark, guilty pasts. The betrayals that weren't really betrayals but still rankled. The horrible separation. The exuberant reunion. Their six-month anniversary. Their marriage. The love. The sex. The sex which even seemed to impress him, at times. She sighed again. Shook him. "John? John!"

"Strawberries, Moira," he muttered into her hair. Falling back asleep with snore. But his arm tightened on her, as if guessing her intention to flee.

Moira snuggled. As if she could hide herself against him. Erase the wild passion, the sheer sexual appetite they had indulged repeatedly. Working out all the stresses, the problems between them. Around them. He seemed to take it all in stride but she couldn't. It was too startling, too astounding. Confusing her, alarming her.

She pulled out of his arms, turned away from him to stare at the darkness. But he spooned against her, needing her snug against him even in sleep. His arm slid around her waist. His snores softly fluttering her hair. She touched his arm, caressing. Debating.


	12. Chapter 12

Hibernation12

John snorted. Snored and woke suddenly. He rolled onto his back, limbs sprawled on the bed. Tangled under the blanket. "Moira?" he rasped. Blearily opened his eyes. The room was engulfed in darkness. Silence. He sat. Ran a hand through his hair, over his face. Frowned. Wondered where she had gone. With a sigh of annoyance and concern he got off the bed. Strolled to his room. Entered the bathroom and cleaned up.

He pulled on a navy t-shirt, his gray running pants, shoes. Left to find her. He entered the cafeteria but it was deserted at this late hour. He turned to go. Spun back, suddenly ravenous. He moved to the back, searched through the refrigerators and found a sandwich. A beer. He headed out, but spun back. Returned to grab Moira a sandwich and a Coke. Left again but returned once more to snag a bag of chips. Satisfied he strolled along the hallways, trying to figure out where his wife had fled.

Moira was sitting in the biology lab, staring blankly at a data screen as information filled it. She tried to concentrate, but her thoughts kept returning to John. Usually science was a refuge, a calm place but now her mind kept running off track. Away from the data and facts. Sliding to the startling events of the evening. To everything they had been through recently. To the sex, the exuberant, aggressive sex which had escalated into something that made her uncomfortable. Worried.

A sandwich appeared on the table. Startled she turned in the chair as a Coke joined it. As John pulled up a chair to sit beside her. Placing his own sandwich and beer on the table. "John?"

"Hey, Moira. I'm starving. Figured you'd be too." Nonchalantly he began to eat his food. Taking a long swallow of the beer. He made a satisfied sound, licked his lips. Gaze roving over her messy, loose hair. Her violet t-shirt and dark jeans.

"Thanks." She began to eat, suddenly hungry. Drank the Coke in thirsty gulps. Apart from their eating the only sounds were the computers humming softly. The lights emitting a golden glow upon them, around them. Doused to half-power.

John finished. Sat back, sipping his beer. "So...what's that?" He pointed at the screen.

Moira finished, looked at the computer. "_Gomphoterium angustidens_ compared to the _Deiotherium giganteum_ we discovered on Pleistocene Park. I'm trying to collate a definitive elephantid evolutionary development in respect to the diverse orders and..." She faltered.

"Oh. And you decided to do this at," he checked his watch, "two in the morning? Did you have a sudden eureka moment and I missed it?"

"No." She frowned at the screen, at his gentle teasing. "Go back to bed, John. I need to work on this. It's more productive right now than the serum analysis and the HIT applications to–"

"No." He shut the data pad. "Moira, are we okay?"

She scowled, but his question threw her. She met his gaze. "What?"

"You heard. Are we okay? After all the shit we've been through recently, I mean. The betrayals that weren't betrayals but...slips," he decided on the word. "All the sharing of our dark pasts. I just need to know if we're okay. Are we?"

She considered, caught by his serious gaze. Low voice. "Yes." She turned back to the closed data pad. "We're okay, John."

"Good. So...it's the sex, isn't it?" He saw her tense. Sipped his beer. "Well? Talk to me, Moira. The intensity?" She nodded. "Ah. The duration?" She nodded again. "Ah. I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, setting down the beer.

"No. You didn't hurt me. You never hurt me..."

"But...but it got close to that, didn't it? And that scared you. Shit. I'm sorry, Moira...I swear I will never hurt you. That last, those last times were quite, um, exuberant, even for us. But we needed it. You know that as well as I do."

"You, you didn't hurt me, John," she repeated. Stood as a blush warmed her face. "It's not that, it's...you'll laugh at me."

"Me? No. I won't laugh. Talk to me, Moira."

But she crossed the room. Moved to a counter and stared at the vials lined up in a row. "No. You'll laugh at me, John, and, and it's not fair."

He stood. Moved to her. "What's not fair, Moira? Talk to me." He touched her shoulders, turned her to him. "Moira?"

She lowered her gaze to his chest. "I...look, John, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?" She sounded angry. "I'm not like them! I'm not like your, your lots some women who are probably used to this, to all kinds of, of sexual stuff that I'm not and probably you've gone even, even farther with them even faster but I'm not one of them and the things you do, the things we do, John, my God! I'm sure to you it's nothing, it's ordinary but not to me. I'm not one of them, John! I've never been involved like this with a man before and never been exposed to so many different sexual positions and appetites and desires and my God it's like you can't get enough or you want it to be different every time! And you push and push and then I bit you! I bit you, John, so hard you got hurt and I'm afraid I am going to really hurt you! I don't want to hurt you, John. I know you will never hurt me but I'm afraid I will hurt you and I couldn't bear to do that to you. John?"

John was struggling. Lips pursed together to force the smirk away, to keep the bubbling laughter from erupting. Her serious, sincere voice amusing him. Making him smug. Arousing him as she displayed a real concern, a genuine consternation. A charming innocence. He felt a surge of love for her. A surge of desire as he felt himself wanting her. Drawn irresistibly to her. As she raised her gaze to him, brown eyes wide, full of worry and solemnity it took all of his willpower not to laugh, to pull her into a kiss. To take her on the counter that was behind them.

Moira frowned. Eyes narrowing. She saw the hilarity sparkling in his brilliant green eyes. The mirth trapped behind his lips. "I knew it! Piss off, John!" She shoved free, moved away.

He burst into laughter, could not contain it. "Moira, oh Moira!" he croaked, trying to contain his merriment but losing the battle. "Oh fuck! Moira, Moira, I love you!" He calmed, wiped his eyes and moved to her. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not! Go back to bed!" she snapped, shaking off his hand.

But he spun her round to him and kissed her. A lengthy, provocative kiss. He kept her close, smiling. "Sweetheart, you won't hurt me. You will never hurt me no matter what you do. This," he showed her his finger, "is nothing. Fuck it just makes me harder. Makes me want you even more. I want you do to this, Moira. Remember? Oral erotic fixation," he savored each word.

"No! No, John, this ends here and now! I won't hurt you!" She pushed but he held her in place.

"No. You won't hurt me, Moira, and I will never, never hurt you. I like this. I don't know why, and I'm sure you will analyze it to death but I like it. When you do this stuff with me during sex. Biting, nibbling. Okay? Don't you dare stop any of it, baby. I won't allow it. I promise you we will never cross that line from pleasure to pain. Never. I admit I did lose some control and we got awfully close to crossing that line. It won't happen again."

"No, John, I can't–"

"You can and you will. Moira, I don't want you to be like any of those lots some women. I don't. You think I want that? I want you. Just you. As you are now. Your love, your desire, your passion. Even your science, Moira, and that's saying something."

"John,"she scolded, a smile forming as his words calmed. Assured.

"Those women were nothing to me," he continued. "Are nothing. You, you are everything to me. How can you not see that? Feel that? You are the only one I want like this, like that. I never had this kind of sex with them. Just with you. This much pleasure, passion, exuberance. In some ways, Moira, this as new to me as it is to you. So yes, you can. I can."

She stared, discomforted. His voice was serious, gaze intent. Merriment subdued as he reassured her. "I...I..."

"So, I will ask you again, sweetheart. Are we okay?"

She lowered her gaze, feeling tears, anxiety. She touched his chest. Solemn again. Met his equally solemn gaze. "I...yes. We're okay, John. Right?"

"Yes, Moira." He kissed her. Drawing her against him. "We're past all that shit now," he said into her ear. Breath tickling her skin. "All of it. We're moving on, now, Moira. Past it all. Forward from now on, baby, and that's a direct order. Got it?"

"Yes, colonel." She stepped back to view his handsome face. "John...it...it really wasn't like this with your lots some women?" she asked in a small voice.

He smiled. Tenderly caressed her rosy cheek. Trying to curb his desire for her. "No. It wasn't. Only with you, Moira. Although...maybe it's like this with scientists? I don't know."

"Hilarious, John," she scolded. Kissed him. Ran her hands up his chest, but drew back from him. Gasping softly as she glanced down at his crotch. "John? You've got to be kidding me!"

He chuckled. "Hey, it's not me. It's entirely him, I swear. I'll stand down," he sighed.

She shook her head. "Let's go back to bed, colonel. And by bed I mean bed. No sex. Keep it in your pants, Sheppard, would you?"

He laughed as she led him out of the lab. "I'll try, baby, but I think a quickie may be in order to ratify this resolution of our respective grievances. So?"

She laughed. "Is that a military decision, colonel, or a personal one?"

"Purely military, baby...well, not so purely. But I will acquiesce to the scientist in this matter and let you decide."

"Thank you, sweetie."

* * *

John sauntered into the cafeteria. Grabbed a tray and breakfast. He looked round, saw Moira sitting with Carson. Both engrossed in a conversation. He smiled. Joined them, sitting next to her. Scooting her over until she was almost hitting the wall.

"John!" she complained, elbowed him. He smiled, scooted out a little to give her a few inches of space. "Are you really going to eat all that? Haven't you had enough?" she asked, but inwardly groaned the minute the words left her mouth.

He smirked, eyed her playfully. "Hmm...have I had enough? No. I don't think so, Moira, not by far. Have you? Hmm...our resolution last night was quite pleasant but very quick, so I can see why you would ask me that...damn I wish I had a beer."

Moira sighed, elbowed him again. "John, you..." she paused, considering. Waited for him to take a long drink of juice. "Oh, okay, John...you are right. About the beer. I wouldn't mind one myself. I could use a cold beer after an especially satisfying session of pure, uncomplicated fudging. You?"

John did a spectacular spit take, juice flying out of his mouth across the table. Nearly hitting Carson who scrambled out of the way.

"Bloody hell!" the doctor exclaimed.

Moira laughed heartily. John was trying not to laugh, coughing and choking. Coughing again. She helpfully pounded his back. "Easy, John. Don't you let all that delicious fudge go to your heads," she taunted.

"Is he all right?" Carson asked, puzzled by the outrageous hilarity of the normally taciturn military commander.

"Oh, he's fine! He gets all giddy after several particularly satisfying fudges, don't you, honey?"

John had just recovered but was trying not to laugh. Snorting with the effort before he choked again. "Moira!" he croaked.

"Fudge, fudge, fudge," she mimicked him, but pretended to be oblivious. "John does like a real good fudge. And we partook of several, didn't we? In fact John, well, he is quite the connoisseur of a fantastic fudge, aren't you, honey? John's quite insistent on just the right fudge, at the right time, and can enjoy a really good, moist fudge for hours. Hours! A fudge to end all fudges, or several fudges all at once. Right, John?"

John was nearly doubled over, shaking with repressed laughter. About to burst. He couldn't look at her. Eye contact would finish him. Her innocuous voice was bad enough. Tears stung his eyes.

"Is he always this way about fudge?" Carson asked, alarmed and perplexed. But becoming suspicious at the hidden meaning.

"Oh, you better believe it!" Moira assured smoothly. "If John had his way, he'd be fudging all the time. Why he even surprised me with a double fudge, not once but twice! And then, oh my, there is the fudge to end all fudges. Sheppard's delight. A delightful fudge but a little too intense for me, wasn't it, John? But not for John. Not my fudge buddy here."

John lost it before he burst. He bellowed laughter, helpless. Slamming his palm on the table to make the trays rattle. He laughed and laughed, startling the others in the cafeteria who had never seen such unbridled hilarity in their normally reticent, unfazed leader. He was nearly hysterical, a rush of emotional release, of bubbling humor so intense he nearly fell off the chair.

Moira smirked, laughed, glanced at him. Enjoying teasing him. Loving his unbridled merriment. His surrender finally to the sheer mirth.

"Is fudge so very funny?" Carson asked, shaking his head. Smiling.

"No, no, Moira! Please!" John gasped, finally calming, quieting, but he could feel more laughter bubbling inside of him. He wiped his eyes.

She ignored him. "No, not the actual fudge itself. There's nothing funny about that, is there, John?" she persisted, voice serious. "John takes fudging very, very seriously. He always tells me that. An intense fudge makes him all giddy, all silly, and the more he fudges the more he wants. Its's a vicious circle, really. Fudge, fudge, fudge. Oh John, fudge, poor John, there is really nothing sadder than a man who cannot control his urge to fudge. So fudging sweet."

John lost it again, laughing loudly. Had to turn away from the table. Doubling over, hands on his knees.

"From the looks of him I'd say he's had too much," Carson noted.

Moira grinned. "Yes. I keep telling him that but he won't listen. Isn't that true, John? I know that one good fudge deserves another but really, colonel, when you enjoy a tasty, succulent fudge like you do it would be a shame to deny you. And John can fudge like nobody's business!"

"Moira, please!" he croaked, laughing. Gulping for breath. "You're killing me," he gasped.

Moira smiled, patted his back. "Easy, John, easy! No need to get so emotional. You'll get your fudge, don't you worry. I'll see to it that you have the best fudge you could desire. Geez!" She drank some water. Finally relented before he collapsed or convulsed. "Carson," she said, becoming serious, "have you discovered anything about that serum and the HIT and the Wraith DNA cultures?"

Carson blinked at the change in topic. "What? Oh, yes. Fascinating, Moira, but I can't quite figure out how it all fits together. The differences as well as the similarities alone are enough to study. The modifications in the serum, and the obvious extrapolation of HIT to induce a suspended state in both Wraith and human. I was comparing it to the other Wraith samples we have collected over the years. As you have. I suppose you would call it specialization or convergent evolution."

"Maybe. I don't think Darwin factored in alternative realities, or even other galaxies." They laughed. "It makes me wonder, though, about any truly indigenous life in this galaxy."

As they talked John calmed. Quieted. Only little laughs escaped him now. His ribs hurt from all the humor. But he felt fantastic, albeit weakened momentarily. The rush, the release was nearly as good as sex. Nearly. He wiped his eyes, tentatively straightened in his chair. Turned back to the table. Glanced at Moira. He sipped some water. Ate carefully, relaxing as their conversation droned on. But he began to listen, interested despite himself.


	13. Chapter 13

Hibernation13

"So you are suggesting that there had to be something here, before life was taken and seeded from Earth?" Carson asked, warming to the topic.

Moira nodded. "Yes. There had to be some sort of primitive life forms, at least. Don't you agree? This galaxy had to be able to support life, or else the Ancients wouldn't have bothered to seed it, much less remain here. Perhaps the life devolved to a point of no return, necessitating the introduction of life forms from the Milky Way."

"Or conversely evolved to a higher plane of existence superseding all known types of life. Like the Ancients did. Their ultimate goal of ascension."

"Maybe. I suppose they even evolved out of their enjoyment of a fantastic fudge."

"Moira," John snorted, catching himself. Tensing.

She smiled. "Sorry, John. Still," she resumed seriously, "there had to be life here, before. Maybe it went extinct. Or was killed off by something calamitous. If these planets couldn't sustain their own ecosystems then they would never have been able to sustain ours. Unless they just happened to be remarkably similar."

"And if they were that suggests a convergent evolution on a planetary scale," John noted, gesturing with his fork for emphasis. "But they must have terra formed some planets. What are the odds of every planet here being habitable compared to our own galaxy? Of course the Stargate network allows us to travel great distances between worlds, but now that you mentioned it we haven't really encountered any alien species, so to speak. Except for the nasty ones. That bug we can't mention, for one. And the Wraith, of course. And Moira's little enzyme."

"True, only at a micro bacterial level. You know, colonel, you may be onto something here. But this is not my speciality," Carson averred.

"Nor is it mine," Moira agreed. "I'm no astrophysicist, but–"

"Really? Never would have guessed that," John quipped.

Moira glared at him. "Stop fudging around, John, this is serious!"

He laughed, lowered his fork. "Moira, don't!"

"Does every planet have a Stargate?" she asked.

He considered. Sipped his water. "Yes. Some are in space and not even on the planetary surface, but yes. I think so. As far as I know. I'm no astrophysicist either."

"That's a shocker, colonel," she jested, making him scowl. "When we compared the two Wraith genome sequences there were significant differences. Not only because of the ATA gene but other changes as well. Do you think one of those could be–"

"Of course! Why didn't I think of that!" Carson exclaimed. "In some ways ours are mirroring their development, minus the ATA gene, thank goodness! But they are still on the same technological level."

"Maybe, maybe not. Their Atlantis was more advanced in many ways. We should assume the same for their Wraith, but you're right, they are on similar pathways like we are with that other Atlantis. Except for the ATA gene. And other things. And if they are using it to not only extend their lives but to–"

"It's the only thing that makes sense, for them to develop it at all. The question is why. Colonel?"

Both turned to John. He was looking from one to the other, frowning. "I think I preferred it when you talked in shorthand. What is it, exactly?"

"HIT. The hibernation inducement trigger. You speculated that the reason could be not only for extended life of both the host and the prey but for travel."

"I did?" He considered. "Oh yeah, I did." He smiled. But frowned, eying Moira. "The question is travel to where? Earth?" The word sent a chill down their spines, imaging it.

"God I hope not," Carson muttered.

"Or somewhere else," Moira mused, chewing on her lower lip a moment. "The only way to Earth is here, right? So what if it's not Earth."

"Then where?" John asked.

"I have no idea." She sighed. Pushed. "Scoot! Scoot, would you? I've got work to do, unlike you, apparently. John!"

He sighed. "Fine, fine." He scooted, letting her escape the table. "Where are you–"

"All this talk of fudge has made me really want some. Fudge, John, just fudge!" she insisted to his sudden smile. His playful smirk.

"Watch your language, Moira," he chided.

"Hilarious, John. You–"

"Hey, Moira, I might just be in the mood for a really, really delectable fudge. Are you up for it later, baby?"

She sighed, shook her head. But smiled. "The question is, sweetie, will you be?"

"Absolutely, sweetheart. You–"

"Behave and stand down, colonel, before you fudge yourself silly again."

"Not myself, no," he retorted with a smile.

"John!" She sighed at his laugh. Left the two men.

Carson shook his head. "The two of you are quite a pair," he commented.

John shrugged. "Yeah, I guess we are, Carson."

"I haven't seen you laugh like that in quite a while. Maybe never, come to think of it."

"Well, Moira knows how to push my buttons," he vaguely explained.

"I see. I'm glad, John. You two seem very happy together."

"We are. Very. Despite everything. Maybe because of everything. We are."

* * *

"John! John! I need to see..." Moira's voice trailed off as she skidded to a ungraceful halt. Everyone turned in the control room, stared at her as her insistent voice fell into silence.

John smiled. Strolled towards her. "Moira. What do you need to see?"

"Um, it can wait, sorry, I was just...sorry," she stammered, embarrassed, backing up.

He pursued, a smile on his face. Voice lowering. "What do you need to see, baby? Please, please tell me this is a surprise ordnance inspection, or a new fudge you want to try."

"John!" She laughed. "No...I..it can wait. Sorry!" She turned, headed quickly away from the amused audience. Berating herself for her impulsiveness.

"Moira!" he called, pursuing. "I will follow that pert little ass, baby, so you may as well complete that sentence."

"That's harassment, Sheppard!" she flared over her shoulder.

"So it is, baby. No, it's appreciation. Walk faster," he teased, on her heels now as she entered their room.

She whirled to face him. "John, I need to see the flash drive."

He paused. Merriment fleeing. "No."

"What? John, this is important! I think, I could be wrong but I think there could be a fourth message on the–"

"Don't care. We're done with that, Moira. With him."

"John! It could be important! I need to see that flash drive. There may be more information about that planet, the enzyme, the HIT, the–"

"I said no, Moira. I don't care if there's a fourth, fifth, or hundredth message on there! Mission is over, Moira. Case closed. End of story. We are moving on."

She sighed. Stepped to him but he folded his arms across his chest. Implacable. Stern. "John, be reasonable." He was silent, watching her. She touched his arm. "Sweetie, we are past it. All of it. But there could be more information on that flash drive and we need to access it now."

"I said no, Moira. No. Read my lips. No."

She replied tartly, "I'd rather kiss those lips. Erase this obstinacy, colonel. Hmm...how can I get past that gruff, stubborn, Alpha male exterior?"

"You can't. So no. You won't seduce it out of me either, baby, so do not even try," he warned gravely, but hoped she would try. Anticipated it. "Not even your pert little ass will make me budge on this."

She smiled, tilted her head. Glanced down at his crotch. "Really? It won't make you budge at all? Oh John..." she purred. Kissed him. "But it will make you hard, won't it? So hard..." She smirked, turned away from him. Sashayed a few steps and leaned over. Looked back. His stubborn expression had not changed, nor had his determined stance. "No? Hmm...maybe these pants aren't snug enough?" She undid them. Unzipped. Stepped out of her shoes and slid the pants down to her ankles. Stepped out of them. Wiggled her rear, exaggerating her movements. She looked back at him.

He was watching. Gaze glued to her rear. The shapely curves enfolded in the violet satin. He was smirking but still unmovable. Expression turning stern once more as her gaze hit him.

"No? Damn...I must be losing my touch. Let me see..." She ran her hands down her back. To her rear. To grasp, squeeze, murmur. Slid the panties down a little. A little, giving him a peek of flesh and curves. "It still feels pert. What do you think, John? John?" She looked over her shoulder. He was gone. "John?"

"Hold position, baby!" he called from his room.

She smiled. Wondered what he was doing. What he was getting. She pulled up her panties. Frowned. "Sweetie? The only hard thing you are packing had better be the flash drive."

He laughed from the other room. She frowned. Leaned over to grab her pants. "I said hold position, although that one will do very nicely too," he teased, moving towards her.

She whirled, pants in hand. Laughed. John still wore his black t-shirt, but his pants were gone. He wore the boxers with the green soldiers on them. The bulge all too evident of her success. "John? That had better be the flash drive, damn it."

He smiled. Moved to her. Bare feet silent on the floor. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her. "You know I can't resist that pert little ass, baby, so yeah, we can call this a flash drive. We can call this whatever you want, as long as you do call it." He grabbed her rear, squeezing to make her squirm. "And this ass is very pert, don't you worry. Very, very, pert. And completely fudgeable."

She laughed, shoving. "John! I was teasing! We are not fudging right now! I need the flash–"

"Later. No." He kissed her again. "I want a fudge, baby, a fudge to end all fudges. We can look at the flash drive later, okay? Right now I want to fudge, fudge, fudge. Moira, let's fudge ourselves silly, shall we?"

She laughed. Kissed him. "Oh John! Fudge me, sweetie!"


End file.
